


Can't Talk (Like Real Adults)

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: WinterIron Bingo [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Tony isn't any better, bucky is a dumbass, subverting our own tropes, subverting tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 14:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18994636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Bucky and Steve made a pact when they were young, that if they were both still single when they were thirty, they’d marry each other. Bucky could think of a lot of worse things than being married to his best friend. They already live together, the tax benefits would be pretty awesome, and he could stop worrying about growing old alone. That is, until he met Tony Stark. Yes, that Tony Stark. Rich, gorgeous, smart, fun, great in bed, and... actually interested in Bucky?Tony didn’t really do dating. It was too depressing to waste his time with borderline stalkers, fortune hunters, people just crossing off their bucket lists, and worse. He’d pretty much resigned himself to a lifetime of one-night stands. And then he met Bucky. Hot, nerdy, relaxed, and utterly nonchalant about the whole “Tony Stark” package in an extremely appealing way. There was just one problem: Bucky was engaged to someone else.(This fic fills 10 different squares for our Winteriron Bingo, one for each chapter.)Bookmark added toReader Collection





	1. I5 - First Kiss

OkCupid had been a lot of terrible dates, honestly. Bucky was so tired of dating that he’d joked around with Steve about it.

“Remember, when we were still young--” he said from the impossible age of not quite thirty yet but would be in a week “--and we said if we were still single in our thirties, we’d marry each other?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, not looking up from the painting he was doing. It was a commission piece and the photo was pinned to the side of the canvas. Someone’s dog. Whatever, it paid the bills.

“Think I might be holding you to that,” Bucky said. What the hell, marrying Steve wouldn’t be so bad, right? They already lived together, shared food and a bathroom in their terrible flat. If they got married, they’d at least get the tax break, right? And Bucky would stop feeling like such a dismal failure for being unable to attract a worthwhile date and then hold onto them.

Steve was easy.

Just-- “You know, an open marriage,” he said. “I want to still be able to fuck.”

“Wow, with romantic openers like that, Buck, it’s hard to believe you haven’t found anyone yet.” Steve wiped off his brush and dug in his box for another tube of paint. He squeezed out a little onto his palette and glanced up at Bucky as he screwed the lid back on. “Are you actually serious? I thought you had a date tonight.”

“I do,” Bucky admitted, looking down at the picture. The guy was prime choice ass, but his profile read like asshole. _You know who I am_. Genius, playboy, philanthropist. Also, he was making finger guns at the camera in his picture; did anyone actually _really_ do that?

Bucky blew his hair out of his face with a puff of air. Why he’d listened to Rumlow and cut his hair, he didn’t know. Now he was in that awkward stage of growing shit out. His used-to-be-bangs (bangs! Really?) were down to his chin, which meant they didn’t tuck neatly into his manbun without a lot of product. “I’m not encouraged. Dating sucks, and like, not in the good way.”

“At least you get dates,” Steve said. “Everyone looks at my profile and swipes left. Maybe we _should_ get married.” He rattled through his brushes until he found the one he was looking for. To Bucky’s eye, it was identical to the one he’d just put away. “Oh, before I forget, don’t book any dates for next Saturday. We’re throwing you a surprise party.”

“Oh. Great,” Bucky said. Turning thirty. Ug. His youth was gone, and he’d accomplished exactly nothing with his life. “Presents. And don’t forget, I don’t like that frosting at the Stop-n-shop, they put, swear to god, Crisco in that shit. It’s nasty and I won’t eat it. Should I pretend like I want to look good for my date, or just go in this?”

Steve actually paused long enough to look Bucky up and down. “Eh, wear that,” he said. “Maybe your problem’s that you’ve been trying too hard.”

“I don’t try at all with you, and we’re gettin’ married,” Bucky joked. “Maybe you’re right. If I don’t have to get dolled up, I got time for an episode of _Orange is the New Black._ Sit down and watch somethin’ with me.”

They ended up watching two episodes and Bucky had to run to catch the train in order to make it to his date-meet-up on time. There was trying too hard, and then there was being a prick. Being late to a first date put him firmly in the second category.

***

Tony slumped in the back of the coffee shop, trying not to look like himself, and wondered why he was even bothering. Every date turned into one of two things: fawning all over him because they were overly impressed by his celebrity, or smug entitlement on the mistaken impression that because Tony Stark had agreed to go on a date with them, it meant they were automatically A Catch(TM). It was so _tiresome_.

“Why don’t we just get married, honeybear?” Tony had asked Rhodey, on multiple occasions. “It would make things so much easier.”

“Sure,” Rhodey always said. “Things _are_ lots easier when you’re dead. And if I was married to you, Tones, I’m pretty sure I’d have to kill you.”

Tony had spent a big chunk of the previous decade just partying and getting laid, but the older he got, the less satisfying -- and more exhausting -- he found the lifestyle. He wanted romance. He wanted friendship _and_ lust wrapped up in a single package. He wanted someone to wake up with. Preferably, someone who saw him as more than a meal ticket or express train to fame.

He’d tried making his dating profile incognito, but that just made their reactions _worse_ , when they showed up. At least this way, they got their _omg is this real_ flailing done in private. Less embarrassing for everyone involved.

He didn’t have a lot of hope for tonight’s date, either -- the guy’s profile had been just a little too carefully constructed. It said too many of the Right Things, and not enough that felt _real_. On the other hand, the guy was drop-dead gorgeous, and Tony hadn’t gotten laid for... well, a while. So as long as the guy wasn’t a _total_ douche, maybe they could at least get their rocks off.

The guy who sat down in the chair opposite Tony wasn’t unattractive, but he wasn’t a picture-perfect model either. His hair was a disaster, a little like he’d been running, and he was wearing low cut, tight jeans, and a threadbare NASA tee shirt that was either one of his favorites, or he was wearing it ironically. Hard to tell; the rest of his look screamed either hipster or the nineties called and wanted their flannel shirt back.

“You Tony?” the guy asked, giving Tony a quick glance with eyes that were the color of storm clouds, dreamy, and lined with ridiculously thick eyelashes.

“That’s me,” Tony agreed. He extended his hand. “And you’re Bucky.” Maybe. _Maybe_ , if the profile thing was a fluke, the guy just not having any good idea how to put his profile together, there was a chance. Slim, but nonzero. Tony had done more with less.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “I keep bein’ told that I should switch back to James, but man, the only people who call me James are teachers I didn’t like, an’ my mom when she was mad at me.” He looked around the coffee shop, all carefully arranged clutter and art from local painters and-- “Bleh. Want to get a coffee to go? The library’s doin’ a presentation on the Parker solar probe and its recent flyby on Venus, that I thought sounded interestin’.”

Tony couldn’t help staring. Smoking hot _and_ a space nerd? Well. Things were looking up. “Okay,” Tony said. “Yeah, that sounds... great, actually.”

Bucky blinked, as if he’d actually expected Tony to storm off, or defer, or anything aside from agree. “Huh,” he said. “Okay, then. I love the library, they had a little memorial service for Opportunity recently. I think one of the librarians is secretly a NASA spy or something, she’s great.” He pulled Tony into the line for coffee and got his coffee with no milk and a spoonful of honey, and Tony’s (just black is fine), and paid for them without even looking at Tony. Tipped the coffee girl two dollars.

And that was... That was _unprecedented_ , really. _Everyone_ assumed Tony was paying. He’d never resented it; why _wouldn’t_ he pay, after all? Was it even possible that Bucky had no idea who Tony was?

Wow, that sounded conceited, even in Tony’s head. But really -- hadn’t Bucky even _googled_ him before they’d agreed to meet up, just to make sure he wasn’t some kind of registered sex offender or something?

“You... have no idea who I am,” Tony said, searching Bucky’s face for any hint of recognition.

“Yeah, you said that in your profile,” Bucky said, chuckling. “You look familiar, I’ll admit it. Have I seen you in a Burger King commercial or something?”

“Oh my god,” Tony laughed. “You really don’t. Here, give me your coffee, I’ll hold it for you while you look me up.”

“Well, I was supposed to,” Bucky admitted. “I was going to-- but I got to watching TV and sort of forgot, and then I was almost late, why, are you wanted for murder or some--”

Bucky stared at his phone, then up at Tony, then back at his phone. “No way.”

Tony cackled, which was probably unattractive, but he honestly didn’t care. It was too funny. “‘Fraid so.” He handed Bucky’s coffee back and kept his smile bright, inwardly bracing for whatever Bucky’s reaction was going to be.

“Well, good for you,” Bucky said. “Bet that comes with a side order of pain in the ass. On the other hand, you’re an actual facts rocket scientist. Missiles still count as rockets, right? So I won’t have to explain anything to you at the talk, right?”

“Yeah, probably not,” Tony agreed. “Just out of curiosity, how much would you have been able to explain?”

“Most of it,” Bucky said, without any traces of false pride. “Cosmology was kinda my thing, back in college. Unfortunately, very limited field. I do contract work as a fix-it guy. Ovens, microwaves, blenders, sewing machines. Clocks, sometimes. I like to work with my hands.”

“Yeah?” Tony couldn’t help glancing at Bucky’s hands -- they were long-fingered and neatly manicured, but there were little scrapes and scars that looked familiar, the inevitable result of mechanical work. “Sounds kind of relaxing, really.”

“I like it, you know, taking things apart and fixin’ ‘em,” he said. “Beats the hell out of an office job. I put something on the counter, you know, and it works, I feel like I’ve _accomplished_ something. Sorry, you probably don’t want to listen to me ramble about work. Bores the hell out of most people. If you give me a second to google something, I can probably make small talk about current events. I just--” He waved his free hand around. “Scatterbrained sometimes.”

“Hey, taking things apart and putting them back together is my job, too,” Tony pointed out. “You ever play with robotics at all?”

“Did Odyssey of the Mind a few times,” Bucky said. “Built a robot car that was supposed to navigate a maze. It was… an utter disaster. My team managed to set the maze on fire.”

“What, really?” Tony laughed outright. “How the hell did _that_ happen?”

Bucky regaled him with the story, complete with all asides -- and a brief explanation into the team dynamics of his high school nerd friends -- until they got to the library. He watched raptly during the talk, actually had Tony take a picture of him with the lead scientist, and gushed to her about a paper she’d written, before remembering that he had a date he was supposed to be paying attention to.

“One of these days,” he said, “I’m gonna actually get a job interview at NASA. Probably won’t get the job, mind, but I’d at least like to pretend, for a bit. You hungry? I’m _starved_.” And Bucky dragged him off to a little dive burger place and jokingly fed Tony french fries like he was some sort of baby bird.

Tony didn’t think he’d had this much _fun_ on a date since... _ever_. And Bucky continued to be hotter than hell in summer. As they left the diner, Tony said, “So, if I said I put out on the first date, would you still respect me in the morning?”

“Well, that all depends, I suppose,” Bucky said, licking the last bit of ketchup off the side of his thumb. “Are we talking about a quickie in the alley behind the diner, or-- well, my place isn’t very terribly private. I mean, the answer’s still _yes_ , I’d love to suck your brains out through your dick, but _respect…_ man’s gotta have standards. And beds are nice. I’m getting old, my back gets sore.”

Tony scoffed. “I think I can do a little better by you than an alley.” He pulled his own phone out. “What do you think, Four Seasons?”

“God, I haven’t had sex in an actual _bed_ in months,” Bucky said, voice spiralling dramatically. “Couple couches with bad springs, and entirely too many back seats and bar bathrooms. Well, honestly, only two, but _still_.”

Tony grinned and poked at his contacts. “Carolyn? Tony. I know, I know-- Listen, I need a room tonight; tell me you’ve got something nice available. Fantastic. Text me the details and the keycode. Thanks; you’re a peach.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket and grinned at Bucky. “Walk, or take a taxi?”

“Taxi,” Bucky said, promptly. “Hard to walk and text and not get bumped into. And I need to tell my roommate I won’t be home. He… worries. We’ve been together since we were kids, you know, lookin’ out for each other.”

Tony flagged down a ride with an expert wave and whistle, and even got something in the first few minutes, which was almost unheard of, and Bucky followed him into the cab, texting with both thumbs. He smirked at the response, and then turned his phone off. “Obligations taken care of, I’m all yours.”

Tony shot him a practiced leer. “Looking forward to unwrapping you.” He put his hand on Bucky’s thigh, sliding over the soft fabric and firm muscle appreciatively.

“Oof, that was _terrible_ ,” Bucky said, but he didn’t really look offended. “You want me to respect you in the morning, don’t try so hard. It’s good advice.” He moved a little closer, pushing his calf against Tony’s leg in the footwell.

“I’m not trying,” Tony said. “I’m just passing the time. This ride’s not going to be long enough to do much more than that.”

Bucky flicked his gaze toward the taxi driver, then tipped Tony’s chin in his direction, fingers lightly directing under his jaw. “Try something like this, then--” And he kissed Tony, soft and gentle and thorough. His mouth moved against Tony’s lips, tempting him to open up, and when he did, it wasn’t hurried or crushing or any of the things Tony expected from a hookup. Instead, Bucky kissed slow, a languid heat that build up slowly and warmed instead of scorching.

His mouth still tasted like salt and fried foods, and when Bucky pulled back, he tugged lightly on Tony’s lower lip.

When Tony’s eyes opened, Bucky was still right there, close enough for Tony to feel each soft puff of breath. Bucky’s eyes were dark but his expression was calm -- affected but not urgent. It was a heady combination. “Hmm, don’t know if I got all that,” Tony said. “Want to run that by me again?”

“You are so cheesy,” Bucky told him, sincerely. “I like it.” He kissed Tony again, just as thoroughly, with a little more heat. “I like it a _lot_.”

“That’s good,” Tony said. “I expect--” The taxi lurched a little and Tony tore his gaze away from Bucky’s mouth to realize they’d arrived. “Well. Let’s go inside and see what else we can find that you like.”


	2. N1 - Frotting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut-averse readers - in case the chapter title didn't clue you in, there are smuts ahead. If you don't want to read them, skip the first section.

The Four Seasons was all pale marble and highly reflective surfaces, which made Bucky feel a little out of place in his “I woke up this way” look that wasn’t even affected, but in actual facts, lazy-day fashion. But Tony didn’t let go of his hand, and Bucky knew better than to gawk, although he did more than just glance around.

He’d been to a few hotels, but they were usually more along the lines of Motel 6 or little rinky dink places named after the city he was in. He’d certainly never been anyplace this nice for a quick fuck. Bucky eyed Tony with interest. It could be a nice, slow fuck. Something sensual and passionate and _memorable_.

Check-in was a lot smoother and faster than Bucky was used to, as well; Tony showed his ID and was immediately presented with a keycard. No muss, no fuss. Which was nice. Not too much delay before they were in the elevator and Tony was backing up against the wall, tugging Bucky in close by the beltloops.

It had been a long time since he’d kissed someone where he was at all worried about whether or not they’d like it. If his technique was good. Hell, half the time, Bucky didn’t even kiss on a first date, whether or not he was doing anything else. Kissing was… personal. More personal than a blowjob or a quick handie somewhere.

He was breathing heavy by the time the elevator opened again, and while it was more people boarding rather than their floor, Bucky was still dizzy enough to keep one hand on Tony’s waist as they pretended to be respectable people. Finally out of the elevator and a key swipe into the room.

The room was huge, the same pale marble shades as the lobby, with a huge window that took up the whole wall, and Bucky felt like he could see the whole city. For a long, horrible moment, Bucky knew this was someplace he didn’t belong, that he couldn’t possibly be welcome here, and then Tony was snuggling up against his back while they looked out the window, and he kissed the side of Bucky’s neck, hot and tempting.

Bucky turned and let the urgent wanting in Tony’s eyes drive out that feeling of inadequacy.

“I mean, I’m not entirely averse to the idea of fucking up against the window,” Tony murmured with a sly grin, “but you did mention wanting a bed.” He tipped his head to one side, indicating the massive bed that dominated the room.

“Ain’t--” Bucky’s breath caught in his lungs, imagining the perfect picture of holding Tony up around his hips, nailing him against that glass. Oh, dear God, he was going to go weak in the knees. “Ain’t _necessary_ , just said it’s been a while.”

He hadn’t really paid attention to Tony’s clothes before, tight jeans, a sport jacket and a rock band tee underneath, but he noticed how well everything was tailored as he helped Tony out of the jacket. There was something sensual about undressing another person, and when Tony went to reach for his own belt, Bucky shooed his hands away. “Go on, let me,” he pleaded more than said. He tugged the tee over Tony’s head, kissed him again as he threw it aside.

Tony skin was faintly olive, and scattered with freckles across his shoulders like a dusting of cinnamon. “Ain’t you the prettiest thing?” Bucky murmured and lowered his head to kiss a line across Tony’s collarbone.

Tony tipped his head back, giving Bucky free rein to explore his throat and chest. His hands worked up under Bucky’s shirt, nudging it upward, fingertips stroking slowly and sweetly along Bucky’s skin. He hummed in pleasure as Bucky nipped at his throat. “Again.”

“You like that, hmm?” Bucky found the meaty part of Tony’s shoulder and scraped his teeth over it, then soothed the spot with his tongue. Tony had the most graceful neck, long and smooth, his shave so close that the skin was baby soft just under his chin. He slid his fingers down Tony’s back, light enough to tickle, to make Tony arch up against him, and then mirrored that touch with his mouth, licking Tony’s breastbone, and then down the center of his chest to his navel.

Bucky went down on his knee, glanced up to see if Tony was into it or not, and raised an eyebrow, hand on Tony’s belt. “Yeah?”

“God, yes,” Tony said, breathy and soft. He stroked his knuckles down the side of Bucky’s face, then curled his fingers into Bucky’s hair, petting more than directing. His pupils were wide and dark, and his lips were parted as he watched Bucky avidly. He shifted a little, spreading his legs a bit and leaning back against the glass.

“Jesus, look at you,” Bucky commented, and then undid Tony’s belt, slithering it out of the loops for the sheer effect of it. Dramatic belt removal, 101. It should be a college class. He opened up Tony’s jeans and worked them down to his thighs, smirking a little when Tony made a soft noise as his bare ass pushed against the cold glass. “Commando, huh? That’s hot.”

The cold didn’t seem to have any effect on Tony’s erection, at least, which was flushed and heavy, curving upward in a mouth-watering arc. “Yeah, I like to wear my lucky underwear on a first date,” Tony quipped.

“Well, ‘leastways I won’t be takin’ a page out of this one guy’s book-- he liked to keep your shorts, after, as a collection thing. I saw it once, a whole drawer full of other dudes’ shorts. I wasn’t sure if I was creeped out, or impressed.” Bucky leaned in, nuzzled at Tony’s cock with his nose, feeling the heat and weight of it, and then gave an exploratory, tentative lick, just up the shaft.

“Ah-- Fuck, yeah,” Tony sighed. “That’s good, more of that please.” His hands stroked restlessly through Bucky’s hair.

“Oh, you do like that,” Bucky said, a soft, throaty chuckle. While his lips were still vibrating from it, he did it again, sliding down Tony’s shaft like he was playing harmonica, up and over, getting it nice and wet. There was something utterly sublime about giving head; most guys couldn’t keep up their cynicism when they were on the receiving end, and Bucky liked to watch their faces, see the masks fall away.

Tony-- he just looked like Tony. No mask, no pretend, just honestly enjoying it, somewhat stunned that it was happening. Like _Bucky_ was the one who was something special. It was a heady feeling, and Bucky relished it, even as he did his best to draw moans and gasps out of Tony’s throat. When he started to wobble at the knees, Bucky gave him a last lick and then straightened up.

“Bed?” he suggested.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, grabbing Bucky’s shoulder for balance as he straightened. “Hot as this is, I’m going to fall over if you keep going, and I’ve been told that concussions are not sexy.”

“Ain’t gonna let you fall,” Bucky said. “But I do wanna lay you down.”

“And you say _I’m_ cheesy?” Tony laughed. He stepped out of his jeans and then wormed his hands up under Bucky’s shirt, pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor and then going to work on Bucky’s pants. “Off, off, I want to see what I’m working with, here.”

Bucky kicked off his aging sneakers and, absolutely graceless, shucked out of his jeans, boxers and socks. He shivered a little, utterly bare in the soft light. He was never sure what to do without pockets to stuff his hands into.

His cock jumped lightly, not even the slightest bit self-conscious, as if trying to get Tony's attention.

“Oh, aren’t you lovely,” Tony purred. He smoothed his hands down over Bucky’s chest and sat on the edge of the bed to continue the touch on down Bucky’s stomach and thighs. He didn’t skip over Bucky’s cock, sliding his fingertips down the shaft as he glanced up at Bucky’s face with a smirk, but he didn’t linger there, either, continuing onward, curling around Bucky’s hips and ass, teasing up the insides of Bucky’s thighs. “Very, _very_ nice.”

Bucky shivered. Being touched like that always made him want to say _something_ , but he never knew what. He wanted, god, he _wanted_. “Tony, I…” he stammered, feeling awkward, and then he touched Tony's cheek, rubbing his thumb over Tony's lip. He was utterly beautiful and looking at Bucky like he was special. “Tell me what you want.”

Tony scooted back onto the bed, beckoning for Bucky to join him. “I want to make you feel good,” he said. “I want to... I want to feel you pressed up against me. I want... I know it’s cheesy and dumb, but I just want to have you here with me, right now.”

“I'm right here,” Bucky said, feeling ten feet tall. He slid onto the bed, sliding up Tony's body until he was held between those firm thighs. “Right here.” It was so cheesy and weirdly romantic and soft and somehow _soothing_.

He was shaking a little as he touched Tony's chest and shoulders, cupped Tony's jaw and kissed him. Again until Tony was panting and clinging.

He rubbed against Tony's thigh. “God, you feel so sweet.” He nuzzled at Tony's ear, making him squirm and wriggle appealingly.

“You feel -- ah! -- pretty good, yourself,” Tony returned. His hips rolled, seeking friction, and his arms wrapped around Bucky’s back, clutching them together. For a moment, it seemed they were working at cross purposes, almost more frustrating than enjoyable, and then they slipped into an easy rhythm, their bodies rocking together, cocks sliding against each other with electric sensation.

“Yeah that's… right there baby,” Bucky said and he wasn't sure if he could feel any more tightly wound than he was before his head just popped off. But it felt good, so good, and Tony was so lithe and brilliant.

“Oh, god, oh god ohgod,” Tony chanted, and his fingers dug into Bucky’s shoulders hard enough that Bucky wondered if there would be bruises later. “Shit, I... ‘S been a while, I’m not going to last, I...”

Suddenly Bucky felt so good, so much _better_. Tony felt good, and Bucky was responsible for that.  Everything was fine, perfect. He was burning up, so hot, everything was so hot. Glittery. He kissed Tony again, rutting against him. “It's okay,” he told Tony, because it was, and he was okay. “Come on, come with me. I got you, Tony. Right here.”

“I-- Bucky, fuck, it’s--” Tony’s voice spiraled upward and turned reedy and his breathing became ragged. He tucked his face into the curve of Bucky’s neck and his whole body vibrated with tension as he went utterly rigid. Heat bloomed between them and Tony released his breath in a long sigh. “Oh _god_.”

“I got you,” Bucky said and he pushed himself in that heat, that wetness. “Yeah that's just… just… oh, oh, god.”

Everything was pressure and heat and he tensed up, impossibly tight, before he let go, with a cry of need. “Tony!”

When Bucky recovered enough to look around again, Tony’s head had fallen back into the pillow, lengthening his throat. His eyes were closed, his mouth curved into a soft, easy smile. One hand was tracing idle spirals on Bucky’s shoulder blade; the other hand lay relaxed and open on the bed. “That was fantastic,” he said, not opening his eyes.

“Oh, I like you,” Bucky said, depositing a kiss on Tony's throat. “Easy to please. I could get used to it.”

Tony made a soft, humming sound. “I’m not going to try to dissuade you,” he said, a little sleepily. “I like you too.”

Bucky got up, reluctance pulling at every muscle as he stretched. “Let me get you a washcloth,” he suggested.  He went into the bathroom and-- “Holy shit, there’s a hot tub in here--”

“...Yes?” Tony said, sounding slightly confused. Maybe for him, all hotel rooms had hot tubs.

“Dude, th’ last hotel I was in, the shower was so small I could only get half myself wet at a time,” Bucky said. He turned the tap on and got hot water immediately. Huh, he could get used to this shit, really, he could. And there were flowers. In the bathroom. _Flowers._ Fresh, real, live flowers. Huh. He wiped himself down a few times, then got another washcloth and a hand towel for Tony and brought it in for him.

Tony opened one eye long enough to take the washcloth and wipe up the jizz on his stomach. “Considerate, too,” he said, as if continuing a conversation. “I might have to keep you.”

“Is it clingy and awkward and awful if I want to cuddle?” Bucky wondered. “Because if the answer is yes, I’m totally going to check out the hot tub before I leave because I have literally never been in one before.”

“Cuddling is great,” Tony said. “Only self-absorbed dudebros who are not secure in their masculinity pretend to hate cuddling. But you should definitely check out the hot tub, too.”

Bucky bounced back on the bed. “Good, you look like an excellent little spoon,” he said, sliding one arm around Tony’s waist and stuffing the other under a stack of pillows that was almost uncomfortable in how tall they were. He yawned and wondered if there was some sort of etiquette about how long he was allowed to stay. Nevermind, Tony didn’t seem shy. If he wanted Bucky to go, he’d have said so.

That comforting thought in mind, Bucky stuck his nose in Tony’s hair at the back of his neck and breathed in the scent of warm cologne.  

***

It wasn’t quite the crack of dawn -- probably. Tony didn’t really know what time the crack of dawn was, since he only ever saw it coming from the other side -- when the warm cuddly thing under the covers with him moved. “Shh, you sleep,” someone said, depositing a kiss on his hair and pulling the covers up over his shoulders for him.

A few minutes later, the water started running in the bathroom.

Tony drifted, dozing, for a while, but eventually he concluded that he wasn’t going back to sleep, so he might as well get up. He opened one eye to squint at the clock: 7:47am. _Ug._

He sat up, scrubbed a hand through his hair, and went into the bathroom, where the water was _still_ running.

There was some sort of mystical sea god laying in the hot tub, a towel folded up behind his back, and a washcloth draped over his eyes. Like Adonis, wet, slick, and utterly naked, laying in the water. An offering. Well, Tony could wake up to that once in a while, not hard on the eyes at all. “I hear you breathing,” Bucky said. “Morning.”

“Yes, it is,” Tony said. “It is not even _eight_ in the morning. What are you doing?”

Bucky stretched, water running off him in delicate rivulettes. “Enjoying myself. What are _you_ doing?”

Tony watched the water sheeting off Bucky’s body. “Just at the moment, enjoying yourself.”

“I didn’t want to miss the opportunity,” Bucky admitted, a little sheepishly. He plucked the washcloth off his face to look up at Tony. “Wanna join me?”

“You know, I might, at that.” Tony was already naked, so he sat on the edge of the tub and swung his leg over, testing the water temperature. Hot, but not quite scalding. A little warmer than he usually liked it, but not bad. He slid down into the tub, legs bumping Bucky’s until they’d both settled with them comfortably tangled. “Enjoying your taste of the luxury life?”

“I am,” Bucky said. “You can’t even lie down in my bathtub at home, it’s like being a half soaked tea-bag. Yuck. I kinda miss bein’ a kid sometimes that a bath might do me some good. Like, what asshole decided that showering was _manly_ , and only girls should take bubble baths? Why should they get all the fun stuff?” He sounded absolutely grumpy about it. “There was some fizzy water in the little fridge, there’s another one off the side if you want it.”

“You haven’t seen my shower,” Tony said. “It absolutely qualifies as _fun stuff_.” He stretched out an arm and snagged the seltzer bottle.

“I’m sure people say this to you all the time, but-- and I mean it, so don’t laugh at me,” Bucky said, nudging Tony’s thigh suggestively with his ankle. “This was… really memorable. An’ I don’t just mean the room, although that’s nice, too. You, this-- it was really great. I, uh, it was nice to just be myself, you know?”

“Mm,” Tony agreed. “Who are you the rest of the time?”

“I dunno,” Bucky said. “Who people expect me to be, I guess. Brooklyn hipster character 32B, the one with the motorcycle. Everyone’s always tryin’ to get me to be different, act different, dress different. Cut my hair for damn Brock Rumlow an’ he’s cheatin’ on me a month later.”

Tony _tsk_ ed. “Assholes will be assholes, I suppose. Having a mask for the rest of the world isn’t unknown for rich people, either. Don’t you have friends you can be yourself with?”

“Yeah, I mean, everyone does, don’t they? Have a few friends,” Bucky said. “But I ain’t gonna kiss Nat. Or Sam. I like having all my limbs attached.”

Tony chuckled. “Fair enough, I suppose. My best friend would just give me That Look if I tried it out on him.”

“My Ma always said -- I lost my parents a few years back, Ma died, and Dad just sort of… faded off without her -- she always said she married her best friend,” Bucky said. “An’ I always thought that sounded like the best plan ever. Doesn’t seem too much to ask.”

“I’ve heard that’s the goal,” Tony admitted. “I don’t know how realistic it is, though. That’s a lot to dump on a single person.”

“Eh, at this stage, I think I’m gettin’ too old to worry about it anymore,” Bucky said. “Mr. Right Now will do.” He gave Tony a saucy wink.

Tony grinned back. “ _Right_ now?” he suggested, scooting a little closer.

“Well, maybe not _in_ the hot tub,” Bucky said, plucking Tony’s hand out of the water and dropping a kiss in his palm. The way he looked up from that position was utterly sinful. “But I’d be happy t’ take you back to that big ol’ bed and treat you right.”

“I’d be happy to let you,” Tony said. “You know, if you’ll let me return the favor.”

“Twist my arm, why dontcha?” Bucky teased. He gingerly stood up and got out of the tub, sheeting water, his skin brilliant pink, and offered Tony a steadying hand. “Look at you, gonna spread you out on that bed and eat you up.”

Bucky was pretty much as good as his word, and after, when they were laying on the -- somewhat damp -- sheets, he said, “You should come-- to my birthday party, I mean. My friends are throwing me a surprise party next week, I ain’t s’posed to know about it. It’d… I’d like to see you again, if that… if that’s something you wanted.”

“Yes,” Tony said. He didn’t even have to think about that. He already knew he wanted to see Bucky again. Which was shockingly rare. “How do you invite someone to a party you’re not supposed to know about?”

“Show up with beer or booze, they’ll let you in, no questions asked,” Bucky said. “Last year, there were like five people at the New Year’s party that we didn’t even know. Like, no one knew them, they just… heard the party and came over.”

Tony laughed. “I can do that. Are your friends all as laid back as you?”

“Kinda, mostly? I guess,” Bucky admitted. He was drawing little circles on Tony’s chest with his fingertip. “Don’t… like say anything sexist to Nat, or she’ll break your arm. She may not look fierce, but she’s got like four black belts in a variety of mixed martial arts and Krav Ma-something or other and she will kick your ass for you. If you need protection, hide behind Thor. Can’t miss him, the guy’s as big as barn.”

“They sound entertaining,” Tony said. He hesitated. “Are you sure... I mean, you really want me to come?”

“Yeah-- I mean. Like, I got contracts all week, an’ I want to see you again. I know, it’s a bit personal and weird, but… otherwise, it’s gonna be like April before we can go out again, at least.”

“And that would be a tragedy,” Tony agreed. “Okay. I’m in. Message me the address and stuff? I mean, you could just tell me now and I’d remember it, but if you send it to me, then it’s more likely to actually get onto my calendar and I can flag it as non-negotiable so I won’t have other stuff scheduled on top of it.”

“Great,” Bucky said, and he sounded like he really meant it. “And since we’ve both agreed that we can be cheesy and it’s okay; havin’ you there will be like, the _best_ present.”


	3. O4 - Fake Relationship

Bucky was still digging in his pocket and hoping he had not left his house keys at the ritzy hotel when the door was yanked open. “I heard you on the stairs,” Steve said. “Where the hell have you been?”

_Heaven_ , Bucky thought and gave Steve a dopey smile. “Figuring out the controls on a hot tub,” he said. “Why-- are you sick?” That was usually the problem with Steve -- sometimes he had asthma attacks and had to go to the ER, which sucked, but it sucked worse when he had to call an ambulance. Just getting a ride to the hospital was a several thousand dollar trip. Easier if Bucky could drive him.

Steve _seemed_ fine, not gasping or wheezing, and he didn’t have that pale, jittery look about him like he did when he’d been doped to hell and back at the hospital.

“Nah, but I might be going crazy,” Steve said. He was quivering with... something. He held out his phone, pushing it in Bucky’s face, far too close to actually be able to focus on it. “Read that and tell me if I’m crazy!”

“Oh, if I had to place bets, you bein’ crazy would be high on th’ list-- hey, don’t make me eat your damn phone, hold it still,” Bucky said, then just took it away from him and held it well over Steve’s head. Which was not an improvement as far as reading it went. “What is-- this is a contract.” He skimmed through the legalese, trying to find what, exactly, Steve was contracting out for.

Steve started dancing from foot to foot, a grin spreading across his face. “It is! I got the contract for the Scoffidio office tower, the one with the weird lobby?”

“The thing that looks like a cat hacked up a bunch of alphabet blocks?” Bucky made a face. “Really, you said that building was an architectural nigh-- woah, HOW much?” He pinched the screen to blow up the font to something his grandfather could have read from the moon. “Jesus _Christ_ , Stevie.”

“It’s gonna be an architectural nightmare with my signature on it,” Steve crowed. “That’s my share of the rent and groceries for half the damn _year_ , Buck! _Plus_ there’s a signing bonus if I sign it tonight!” He grabbed for the phone and scrolled impatiently down before showing it to Bucky again.

“The rent and groceries and I expect a really big ring, Rogers,” Bucky said. “And a _good cake_ at my surprise party. All jokes aside, though-- You’re gonna take it? That’s… what, six paintings, thematically appropriate? What does that even mean?”

Steve waved an airy hand. “It means I have to keep it PG and not too politically charged. It’s an office building; they don’t want their worker bees incited to rise up against their oppressive management because of the art. Given the shape of that building, I was going to go abstract, anyway, so.”

“Nice to have someplace that wants to pay you in actual cash, and not, you know, _the exposure_ ,” Bucky said. “That’s great, pal. It’s really-- I’m happy for ya.”

“I’ve been waiting, like _all day_ for you to get home,” Steve crowed. “We’ve gotta get the guys together and go out to celebrate!”

“You’re buyin’,” Bucky said. “Gimme, like, a few hours of sleep, an’ I gotta go fix the dishwasher in 12B.” It wasn’t officially written into their lease or anything, but sometimes Bucky fixed the appliances in other apartments, for a discount on the rent. Which, he might not need to do, if the contract led to other work for Steve. “And then we can paint the town… abstract.”

***

Tony knocked at the door of the address Bucky had given him. As Bucky had promised, when Tony held up a six-pack of microbrewery lager in one hand and a fifth of decent bourbon in the other, the guy at the door grinned, stepped back, and gestured for Tony to enter, not even asking for a name.

The party was already in full swing, the “surprise” apparently already having been sprung, and the cozy apartment seemed to be crammed wall-to-wall with people, laughing and talking and -- of course -- drinking.

A petite redhead relieved Tony of his entry fee with a sweet smile, and Tony followed her into the cramped kitchen, where he surveyed the assortment of drinks on display and helped himself to a beer that didn’t sound _too_ godawfully hipsterish.

“No, Wanda,” Bucky’s voice preceded him into the kitchen. He was holding a tee in one hand that read “Old Fart.” “I’m not wearin’ it, I told you.”

“It’s my present,” Wanda insisted. “You have to wear it, or you’ll hurt my feelings.”

“I am quite positive that I never heard that rule before,” Bucky spluttered. “Besides, I’m thirty, not diggin’ my grave.”

“If you won’t wear Wanda’s shirt, you have to wear Pietro’s,” the redhead said.

“Why are you all gangin’ up on me, this is supposed to be my party?”

“Because you’re old,” someone else said, and promptly dumped a beer over Bucky’s head, soaking both the shirt he was wearing, and the one he held in his hand.

“Clint!” Bucky spluttered beer everywhere, and then threw the Old Fart tee in the sink. “I may not be old, but you… you are a _child_.” He peeled off the shirt he was wearing, showing off slightly beer-dampened pecs and abs. “Right, what did Pietro get me, then?”

Tony leaned against the wall, waiting for Bucky to notice him, admiring the skin on display, the way Bucky’s muscled bunched and slid under that pretty pale skin.

Someone produced a different shirt, tossing it over Bucky’s shoulder.

The beer-dumper -- Clint? -- wriggled between Bucky and the redhead, reaching for the fridge and, no doubt, another beer. He pulled up short when he spotted Tony. “Wow, you look just like--”

“I get that a lot,” Tony said quickly, because if Bucky hadn’t told his friends, Tony wasn’t going to, either. He offered a hand.

Bucky had pulled on the other shirt, a practically see-through thing that said “Gay Agenda: Monday - be gay, Tuesday - tacos,” all the way down to “Super Gay” on the weekends. “Now this, _this_ I’ll wear. Thank you. Oh, hey, _Tony_! Good to see you--” And Tony was engulfed in a beer-smelling hug.

Tony laughed. “Sorry I missed the start,” he said. “There was a thing, you don’t want details; it was horribly boring. Having a good time?”

“I ain’t half as drunk as I smell, but I aim t’ fix that,” Bucky said. “It’s a party. It’s loud, crazy, and people are giving me really terrible gifts. Also, Thor’s threatening a birthday spanking, and--” He pointed to a burly blond in the corner who was taking up most of the sofa by himself. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll survive.”

Tony winked. “Do we get to take turns?”

“Kinky, I like that,” Bucky said. “You want a strawberry margarita-- _hey_! Who emptied the blender? Jesus, man, try to show off your bartending skills and someone drank it all,” Bucky muttered, peering into the mostly empty reservoir that had pink slush in the bottom.

“So make another batch,” Tony suggested, smirking.

Bucky had only just reached into the freezer for ice when, from out in the living room, a voice called, “Hey! Shut up! Shh-- Shut up, I’m-- Where’s Bucky! Buck, get your ass out here!”

“My ass wants a drink, Steven,” Bucky said, ice tray in one hand, a plastic container of strawberries in the other. “It’s not a party ‘til everyone’s in the kitchen anyway.”

The guy who appeared in the kitchen doorway did not match his big voice. He was at least half a head shorter than Tony, and probably weighed less than Pepper. He was clearly farther along the path of drunkenness than Bucky, but given the guy’s size, he’d probably gotten there just off everyone else’s fumes. A good half-dozen or so people crowded in behind him, looking curious.

Steven threw his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “You all know,” he said, “that Buck ‘n’ me have been together since we were in gradeschool.”

“Knee high to a grasshopper,” Bucky intoned, seriously. “Well, he still is, leastways.” He ruffled the guy’s hair fondly and got an elbow to the ribs for his trouble.

“Our relationship has spanned decades,” Steven went on. “I love this guy. I really do.” Everyone watching clapped and cheered, and Steven grinned. “So it seems like this is the best time an’ place to let you all know that we’ll continue to be together in decades to come.”

“‘Bout damn time,” Clint the beer dumper whooped. “You could cut the sexual tension with a goddamn knife!”

Tony blinked. Wait, what?

Steven turned to Bucky, put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and solemnly said, “Buck... Let’s get married.” He held up his other hand, which was... of course... holding a ring.

Bucky went pale, and then red, and then pale again. “Holy shit-- holy _shit_ , Stevie,” he said, taking a step back and putting both hands over his mouth and nose, eyes so wide that Tony could see the whites all the way around.

“They’re such a cute couple, don’t you think?” Wanda asked. “I mean, they’ve been best friends forever, it’s just so romantic…”

“Stevie, I--” Bucky said. “Wait-- are you _serious_? You’re not serious.”

Steve’s brow wrinkled, just a little, and even Tony could read the beginnings of hurt and confusion there. “I mean... _yeah_ , Buck. You and me, to the end of the line, right?”

“Oh, my god,” Bucky said. “Oh, my god, Stevie.” Bucky’s eyes filled up and he blinked several times, trying to clear them. “Jesus, I don’t know what to say.”

“Say _yes_ , idiot,” someone yelled.

Bucky looked around, seemingly noticing for the first time that he was literally surrounded by his friends, all smiles and congratulations and cheering and gossiping. “Oh, wow, yeah, okay,” Bucky said. He wiped his face hastily with one hand. “ _Wow_. Okay, yes, okay.” He swallowed so hard that Tony’s throat ached. “Yeah, Stevie, let’s… let’s do that.”

Tony hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d actually begun to hope this thing with Bucky might go somewhere. Or, he had, but he hadn’t realized how _much_ hope he’d allowed himself. It was uniquely painful, to feel that fragile hope shattering around him, yet again.

Obviously, Bucky hadn’t known this proposal was in the offing when he’d suggested that Tony come to the party -- but what the hell had Bucky been doing, going on a date with Tony in the first place, if he already had a relationship this serious?

Everyone had clustered around the happy couple, yelling their congratulations and excitement. Tony took advantage of the press to worm his way out of the kitchen, ducking past the redhead and around the massive blond god and making a beeline for the door.

He had to wait for the elevator -- running down fourteen flights of stairs while nursing a broken heart didn’t sound like his idea of fun -- and the apartment door opened behind him, letting out a burst of music and then, “Tony-- Tony, wait, I’m…”

Of course. Because of course he wasn’t going to be able to escape. Should’ve taken the stairs. Tony pasted on a showman’s smile and turned. “Hey, congratulations, all that,” he said. “Kinda wish you’d _told me_ you were already in a relationship--”

“-- no, I _wasn’t_ ,” Bucky protested. “I didn’t know he was gonna do that, swear. We weren’t… we’re… I mean--” He looked down at his hand and he’d obviously let Steven put the ring on him. “We weren’t together. I promise, I’d never-- I would never do that. Not to _Steve_. He’s… he’s my best friend.”

“Mm. Well, it looks like you’ll get your wish,” Tony said, and only a lifetime of masking his feelings in front of the press let him keep talking while it felt like knives and shards of glass were cutting him up from the inside. “You’ll get to marry your best friend.”

“Yeah, I-- I guess so,” Bucky said. “You know, my Ma had another saying. _Be careful what you wish for._ Look, it-- I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was gonna go like this. It was… rude.”

“It’s fine,” Tony lied. “You obviously didn’t know it was coming. I’m just going to--” The elevator arrived, announcing itself with a dull ping before the doors opened. Thank _god_. “--head on out, and let you celebrate the occasion with your nearest and dearest.” He offered another little smile, maybe a bit tighter than he’d intended, and backed into the elevator, jabbing at the ground-floor button almost desperately.

Bucky nodded, looked like he might say something else, then just said, “Bye, Tony.” He twisted the ring around on his finger -- it was small, but pretty, and it looked good on his hand. Obviously, someone knew his tastes. And then the doors closed and Tony was alone.

Again.

 


	4. G1 - Log Cabin

Nothing had changed and everything had changed at the same time.

Bucky sat at his work table, staring into his empty mug of coffee and tried to put his finger on it. Their friends had always treated them like they were flip sides of the same coin, so that wasn’t really anything different. Nat kept looking at them with expectant eyes, either for them to kiss or to get into a screaming fight, Bucky wasn’t quite sure which.

But no one else seemed to expect anything different. Bucky still put his arm around Steve’s shoulders, like he always did. But that was as far as it went.

Steve didn’t move into Bucky’s room and convert his to a studio or anything like that. He was still leaving the milk on the counter and the butter dish out. He still yelled at Bucky for washing his socks in the sink and leaving them out to dry. Steve deliberately ignored the trash can that needed to be emptied until there was a little castle of empty boxes and bags of crumpled up takeout all the way around it.

Bucky’s job sure didn’t change. He was constantly bringing back small appliances to fiddle with, or gone all day on house jobs.

Steve’s job only changed in that half the living room was taken up with the enormous canvases he was going to be painting on, nearly twelve feet long and thank Christ they had double ceilings in the living room. That said, Steve was still gonna need to get a damn ladder to paint the top of the thing. Else he was going to have to learn to paint upside down or something.

But at the same time, everything changed.

Bucky had deleted his OKCupid profile. He hung up on, and then eventually blocked two guys who’d called him for late night booty calls.

He spent a lot of time looking at his ring. He told himself it was because he couldn’t wear it while he worked, but he felt guilty as hell if he left it on his dresser. He ended up getting a chain for it and wearing it around his neck.

At first, he didn’t miss the crappy dating, not really. He did sort of miss having another body to touch and explore, but he did well enough pleasing himself.

He hadn’t yet approached the idea of _sex_ with Steve. The very idea made him feel weirdly squirmy, and not in a good way. And if it was weird for him, was it weird for Steve? And if it wasn’t weird for Steve? Had Bucky been missing their relationship for his entire life, thinking it was one thing when it was something else, even if just to Steve?

Fuck.

He pushed the thought aside and tried to ignore it.

Steve tapped on the door to his room. “Buck, your sister’s on the phone,” he said. “I think she’s pissed with me.”

“Nothin’ new, punk,” Bucky said, and that was true. Becca spent more than half of her life mad at someone for something. Bucky’d given up trying to figure out why. Why had Becca called the land line? No one ever did that-- they only still had it because the damn thing came with the apartment.

“Hey Bex,” Bucky said, picking up the phone.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Frequently,” Bucky said.

“You’re engaged to Steve Rogers?”

Well, he probably should have called and told her that. “Yeah, yeah, last… two weeks ago. He proposed at my birthday party.”

“Oh, Bucky,” Becca said, and she sounded _sad_.

“What? How’d you even know?”

“Facebook,” Becca said. “Which is not how I should have found out.”

“I know, I should have called, I just--”

“Don’t love Steve Rogers,” Becca said.

“No, that’s not… it’s not like that,” Bucky said. “And I do love him, you love him, he’s practically one of the family.”

“Which is about the top of the list of my reasons why you should not _marry_ the man. It’s incestuous and gross. You deserve better.”

Well, that was just offensive. “I deserve _better_ than Steve?” Bucky demanded. “Maybe what I deserve is someone to come home to who’s actually here, an’ not banging the basketball player down the hall.”

“Don’t let your bitterness about Brock affect your judgement, Bucky,” Becca said, almost too sweetly reasonable. “You’re engaged to Steve because it’s safe. You don’t love him. And you know that.”

“I think love is overrated,” Bucky said.

“I think you’re a liar.”

And she hung up on him.

“Well, that… didn’t go well,” Bucky said, staring at the receiver.

***

When the door to his workshop opened and his music cut out, Tony directed a glare at JARVIS’ nearest camera. “I told you not to let Pepper in anymore this week.”

“I’m not Pepper,” said a familiar -- but wholly unexpected -- voice. Tony spun his chair around to see Rhodey coming toward him.

Tony launched himself across the space and flung himself into Rhodey’s willing and ever-ready embrace. “Sugar blossom! I thought you were in D.C. this week!”

“Eh, things got delayed. What’s this I hear about you locking yourself in your workshop?”

“I’m not locked _in_ ,” Tony told him loftily. “Everyone else is locked _out_.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes at the semantics. “What happened, Tones?”

“Nothing, why does something have to have _happened?_ ” Tony demanded. “Maybe I just had some fresh ideas and need some space to work out the kinks.”

“Maybe you did,” Rhodey said. He patted Tony’s shoulder and then brushed past, moving in long strides toward Tony’s workstation. “Let’s see what’s got you so tied up, hm?”

“No, wait--” Too late, Tony reached for Rhodey’s arm, just as Rhodey jiggled the mouse to wake the computer up.

“Huh. Yeah, I can see how you’d need some breathing room to deal with all these fresh solitaire ideas you’re having here,” Rhodey said.

“Damn it, you can’t just--”

“C’mon.” Rhodey snaked an arm around Tony’s shoulders, his voice gone soft. “Tell me about it.”

Tony sighed and dropped onto the workshop couch. He scrubbed over his face as Rhodey settled next to him. “It’s not... There was a guy, okay?”

“Aw, Tones.”

“Stop that. It wasn’t... love at first sight, or anything like that. We had a good date. _Great_ date, actually. He knew who I was, but he didn’t care. He just...” Tony huffed. “I thought we had a... a connection. Sounds stupid, I guess. But he invited me to his birthday party.”

“Uh-oh.”

“It’s not what you think. I guess... he’d been on the outs with his boyfriend, when we went out, and they got back together before the party. And then, uh, the boyfriend proposed. At the party.”

“Jesus, Tones.” Rhodey tugged him a little closer.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I mean, it was just _one date_ , you know? Not like it’s the first time I’ve been rejected. I’ll get over it. I just need a little time.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey sighed. “Okay. I’ll tell Pepper to back off you for a while, yeah?”

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a while, and then Rhodey made a soft sound in the back of his throat. “Hey, so...”

“Yeah?”

“What if... I told you I was seeing someone new, right?”

“What, two months ago, now?” Tony said. “Yeah. That still going okay?”

“Going great,” Rhodey said. It was a measure of Tony’s affection for Rhodey that he couldn’t even be jealous of his friend’s good fortune in the face of his own disastrous love-life. “But here’s the thing. Sam’s family has this timeshare up in Thunder Ridge, and he and a bunch of friends are going up, week after next. There’s a spare room, and he said I could invite someone along, you know, so it wouldn’t be one of those things where it’s all _his_ people and I don’t really know anyone. I was gonna invite Carol--”

“How was I not your first thought?” Tony demanded, out of habit more than anything else.

“Because getting you to go on vacation for a whole week is like pulling teeth without anaesthetic. _My own_ teeth, at that. But if you’re not really getting anything done anyway...”

“I dunno how much fun I’m going to be,” Tony hedged.

“Come on,” Rhodey coaxed. “I want you to meet Sam, and I need you to be on my team, here.”

It wasn’t that Tony couldn’t see what Rhodey was doing, couching it as a favor to Rhodey to get Tony to come along. It was just that he’d never been able to deny Rhodey anything. And maybe getting away from the city for a week would do him some good.

“Okay,” Tony said. “But if I break my leg, you’re carrying me for the rest of the trip.”

***

“What’d you do, pack bricks in here?” Bucky demanded, lifting Steve’s suitcase.

“Yes,” Steve said, not looking away from the map. “Where the hell are we?”

“Upstate,” Bucky said. The train was good, it went straight from the city up to the resort, which was nice. Carrying Steve’s bags, on the other hand, less than nice. He went to look for a trolley. “I swear, if I open your bags and I find _actual bricks_ in there--”

“The main lodge is that way,” Steve said, pointing.

“Yeah, where everyone else is going,” Bucky said. He did not find a trolley, but he did manage to put Steve’s bag on top of his own, which had wheels, like decent people actually had, instead of Steve’s old grampa suitcase. “Did Sam say he was meetin’ us there, or-- just shoot him a text would you? And put your damn coat on, would you, before I have a heart attack?”

“It was hot on the train,” Steve complained, but he put his coat on, walking toward the lodge. “Let’s wait there, get a cup of chocolate or something?”

Bucky grumbled and started pulling the cases, walking backward for better leverage. “I swear, only New Yorkers have spring break on the ski slopes. I coulda gone to a _beach_.”

“This was mostly free, stop bitching,” Steve said. “Sam says they’re already there, come on--”

He was still rolling the bags when he heard Steve yelling at Sam, and Sam’s cheerful response. The door slid shut, shooting a wavering reflection back at him. There were two men standing next to Sam, chatting, and Bucky’s heart thudded in his chest, flipping over.

It couldn’t be--

He glanced over his shoulder.

It was.

_Fuck._

Tony Stark, big as life, chatting easily with Sam and Sam’s fella.

_It was one date,_ Bucky told himself. _You like the guy, but it was one date, and you’re not going to screw everything up over one night. Take a breath. You can be mature. You can be friends._

Friends would be nice. Most of his friends had been Steve’s friends first, and while they were cool enough, Bucky sometimes felt alone in his nerdiness. Having someone to bullshit about Captain Kirk vs. Han Solo might be cool.

He took another breath and turned around. “Hey, Wilson-- why can’t your parents have a time share in Mexico or somethin’?”

***

Tony’s entire body went rigid. He couldn’t help it. _He knew that voice_. He made sure his smile was pasted on and turned around. “Barnes,” he said calmly. “Didn’t know you knew Sam, here. Small world.”

He could _feel_ Rhodey looking at him, because Rhodey knew him like no one else. Rhodey knew something was wrong.

As long as Rhodey didn’t call him on it in front of anyone else, though, it was fine. Tony would be cordial and friendly for a little while, and then fake an emergency call from the home office. Rhodey would understand.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and he was not quite looking at Tony with an odd intensity. It was almost insulting the way he wasn’t looking, honestly. This mess wasn’t Tony’s fault, but -- relationship break or not -- it had to be awkward to run into his hook up when Bucky’s fiancé was _right there_. “Sam… uh, he works at the VA, and Steve did a job for them, some soldier memorial thing.” He flitted a glance at Tony, those unfairly pretty eyes both curious and worried at the same time. “It’s good to see you. What’s your seven degrees, here?”

Tony waved at Rhodey. “He’s my Rhodey-bear’s main squeeze.” Which meant, shit, even if Tony could get out of _this_ event, they would no doubt run into each other in the future, as well. _Time to suck it up and get over it,_ he told himself.

“Oh, you’re _Jim_ ,” Bucky said, shifting the cases around and offering Rhodey a hand. “I’ve heard a ton about you.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, waving one of the promotional fliers from the resort at him. “They’re having a Star Trek thing--”

“Nerd,” Sam said, elbowing Rhodey knowingly.

“ _Star Wars_ ,” Bucky sighed, taking the flier and reading over it. “I dunno how you can not tell the difference.”

“Space laser, star things. Yeah, it all blurs together, I can’t imagine why I can’t tell.”

“Heathen,” Tony accused mildly. He couldn’t quite help but lean over to look at the flier over Bucky’s shoulder. “This looks... fun.” He looked over at Rhodey. “You’re in, right?” He was totally going to make Rhodey run interference between him and Bucky. It was like middle school all over again. The only bright side was that there was less acne, this time around. And they didn’t have to worry about getting caught with their booze.

“Yeah, okay, Tones. We’ll get the nerds together,” Rhodey said. “Sam loves that stuff too, even if he thinks he’s too mature to fanboy over it.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sam said, and the two of them devolved into a pushing, shoving match. Yep. Just like middle school.

“Right, well, I’m going to go... unpack. Or something.” Tony took one awkward step back, and then another, and then more or less fled for the safety of the little room he’d been assigned.

He dropped onto the bed and put both hands over his face, pressing against his eyes. How. How could this have happened? Son of a _bitch_.

It said something either about the strength of Rhodey’s affections for Tony or a lack of them for Sam, because Rhodey wasn’t much more than ten minutes behind him. He hoped Rhodey had given the others a better excuse than Tony had managed.

“Tones?”

“That’s the guy,” Tony mumbled into his hands, not looking up.

“What?” Rhodey looked confused for a moment, then, “No… _Barnes_?”

Tony nodded miserably. “Yeah. Crazy world, right?”

“Yeah, not entirely unusual, I run into people in the weirdest places, I mean, you know how you always seem to run into people you know at the airport? It’s like that.” He rubbed a circle on Tony’s shoulder. “Look, maybe it’s for the best; spend the week hanging out and you’ll find out the guy’s just another pretty face, right?” Rhodey gave him a set of raised eyebrows.

Maybe Rhodey had a point. Tony was obviously setting too much store by one admittedly fantastic date, but sooner or later, people always let Tony down. If he stuck it out, Bucky would inevitably turn out to have some dealbreaker quality that would help Tony get over the lingering sense of disappointment.

Which didn’t mean it was going to be easy, in the meantime. “Okay,” Tony said grudgingly. “But you owe me.”

“I’ll call it even for sophomore year spring break?”

“My sophomore year, or yours?”

Rhodey fixed him with a stare. “Yes.”

...Yeah, okay, that was probably fair.

***

Bucky told himself he was doing a great job of treating Tony like a friend; someone he’d met casually, and liked, but not… _liked_. Except that, after that first, awful, awkward first run in, Tony was, in fact, someone Bucky _liked_.

He was funny and smart, nerdy and a total pedant when he was on about something. They watched the Star Wars original trilogy at the observatorium, on the ceiling while laying on the floor -- their other friends crapped out after _A New Hope_ \-- and then talked special effects and extended universe meta until the bar closed down and sent them back to their rooms.

Despite his crisp, polished look and incredible brains, Tony was also almost as athletic as Bucky, keeping up with him on the slopes the way no one else could. They ran the black diamond trail -- twice! -- and neither of them took a tumble, where Steve was mostly stuck on the bunny trails, when he bothered to boot up at all.

In fact, they were arguing over whether or not Han Solo was, in fact, Force sensitive when Bucky heard a familiar, unnerving sound.

Steve, taking a breath that wheezed out of him.

“Stevie?”

Steve made a face and pressed a hand to his chest. “Fine, I’m--” He broke off with a weak cough and another horrible, rasping sound as he tried to draw in enough air for another cough. He tried to say something else, but couldn’t get enough air even to speak. His face was already turning pink. One hand came up, mimicking pressing down on an inhaler.

“Shit,” Bucky scrambled in Steve's coat pocket, hanging off the back of his chair. No inhaler. Steve sometimes forgot it, especially if it had been a few days. He took daily meds to keep an attack at bay, but it didn't always work.

Fortunately for Bucky (and hence Steve), Bucky always kept a spare. He pulled it out. It was light; not too many doses left. Grabbed a napkin and cleaned the mouthpiece hurriedly. “Here you go, Stevie.” He shook it and held it to Steve's mouth.

Steve grabbed at his wrist, squeezing as Bucky puffed out the medicine.

“What’s-- Do I need to call 911 or the resort doctor or something?” Tony asked. He’d stood up, but was hovering uncertainly, obviously ready to take action but not knowing what that action should be.

“Don't talk,” Bucky said, holding up a finger to Steve. “just breathe. He has asthma,” he told Tony. “The puffer usually helps. If he has to use it more than three more times today, then we can go see a doctor.”

“Oh. Okay.” Tony started to say something else, stopped. Finally, he shook his head. “Right. I guess you two will be staying in today. I’ll just go... change. Sam and Rhodey will probably be fine with me tagging along with them.” He hesitated another moment, then left the room.

Bucky watched him go, then scowled at Steve. “Did you pack a spare?” Steve was always tired after an attack. And the medication sometimes gave him high blood pressure or accelerated heart beat. There would be no skiing today, bunny slope or not.

Well, not for Steve at any rate. After about an hour of Bucky hovering be his side, Steve chased him off, practically throwing an art book at Bucky's head. “Just go,” Steve grumped. “I'm not going anywhere but there's no reason you can't have some fun.”

“You're sure?”

“Go on.”

“You _rest_. Don't do anything stupid.”

“How can I?” Steve grumbled. “You’re taking all the stupid with you.” He made a shooing motion at Bucky. “I’ve got my inhaler, I’ve got my book, I’ve got a water bottle. I’m set. We’re only here for a week; you should enjoy as much as you can.”

Bucky hovered for a moment longer, then grabbed his gear. The weather report had looked dubious starting in the evening. He might not get another chance before they left. “You text me if you need anything at all.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “ _Yes_ , you jerk, now _go_.”

***

Tony made it all the way up the slopes, flirting aimlessly with a couple of women who recognized him, got selfies with him, and then rejoined their friends to giggle and gossip, before his phone buzzed.

He had, in fact, planned for the contingency of not wanting to take his gloves off to use his phone. Capacitive fingertips built into his ski gloves. Good thinking.

New Text From Sourpatch.

Rhodey had taken a photograph of the room’s Do Not Disturb sign. That was it, but the message was pretty clear. _I’m getting some, I’ll see you later._

And, well, Tony might be an entire bucket of dicks on occasion, but he wasn’t about to cockblock his best friend. He could take a slope or two on his own. Or make new friends on the way down. He let the lift take him to the highest point available, and stood at the top of the mountain, looking down into the valley. For all the awkwardness this trip had contained -- which was a _lot_ \-- it was nice, too. Pretty scenery. Nice people, too. Tony _almost_ thought Sam might actually deserve Rhodey, and Steve was a hilariously sarcastic little shit. And Bucky... well, they were getting to be friends, and if Tony had yet to uncover anything about the man that was a dealbreaker (aside from the obvious one of _engaged to someone else_ )... He could do worse things than make a friend, he supposed.

Tony had politely stepped off the side of the trail in order to admire the view, so when someone on a snowboard jibbed over to him, it practically knocked him into the snow. He got a faceful of powder, too, when the guy kicked his board up. He pushed his goggles up, and smirked. “You were looking a little too dreamy, there, space cadet,” Bucky said.

Tony blinked. “What about Steve?”

“He’s fine. Threw shit at me and told me to leave,” Bucky said. “He hates it when I hover. ‘Course, he never sat at someone’s bedside for three days, thinking they were gonna die, neither. ‘Course I hover.”

“That sounds pretty awful,” Tony agreed. “But I guess it’s good he’s feeling well enough to be irritable about it.”

“He gets pretty snippy,” Bucky said. “Doesn’t like being reminded that he’s, you know, limited. There was a while, we had a bad apartment once, always half flooded. He had to learn not to _laugh_ , it was so bad. He’d laugh, an’ that asthma would kick right up. So, he’s better now, but better ain’t… you know, fine.”

“It’s good he’s got you, then,” Tony said, and didn’t acknowledge the little twinge of _what if_ that was coiled around his sternum. He slid one ski back and forth a bit, testing the pack. “Race you down?”

“Oh, _hell_ yes,” Bucky said, grinning wide. “Everyone’s wimpin’ out today because of the incoming weather. The double diamond path should be clear.”

It didn’t take too long to shuffle over to the expert ski trail, and, sure as Bucky predicted, there was only one other skier on the hill, just a black dot against the pack, already halfway down. “Last one to the bottom buys the beer,” Bucky challenged.

“You’re on,” Tony said. “Long as it’s not that cheap-ass shit.” He gave the trail a quick once-over, and checked his balance. “Ready?”

“Set,” Bucky said, tugging his goggles down over his eyes and pulling his hood up to cover his ears.

“Go!” Tony shoved off, crouching low to lower his wind resistance, watching the trail and not Bucky. He got a pretty decent start, though Bucky was close enough for Tony to hear the slightly deeper crunch of the snowboard, and laughter. Tony glanced back with a grin -- and then nearly wiped out on a mogul hidden behind a bank in the trail. “Shit!” He wobbled a little as he planted his poles, and Bucky shot ahead, jeering.

They went back and forth like that, for a little while -- the trail wasn’t groomed at all, so there were more than the usual number of hazards -- until Bucky wiped out and pulled a yardsale, rolling several times and leaving bits and pieces of his gear behind. He ended up on his back. “Ow.”

Tony twisted to a stop below him. “Damn, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, although he made no move to get up, laying on his back like the snowdrift was the most comfortable place he’d been in a while and he had no intentions of leaving. “Nothin’ broke. That weather sure is comin’ in fast, though.”

“Weather? What wea--” Tony glanced up. A low, heavy cloud was practically _pouring_ over the ridge of the mountain. “Shit.” He crabbed sideways back up the slope toward Bucky. “Come on, we’ll want to get to the bottom ahead of that.”

Bucky heaved a sigh that Tony could hear even over the rush of wind and sat up. “Oh, great. I’m walkin’ home.” He held up-- a piece of his board.

“Well... fuck.” There was no way they were going to _walk_ to the end of the trail before that storm hit. Tony looked around -- but there was nobody in shouting distance, either.

“I’m good, you go,” Bucky said, waving a hand at Tony. “There’s a ranger’s cabin back up the hill, about… not too far. I saw it just before I hit that death cookie. They’ll have a phone.”

“What kind of amateur do you think I am? I’m not leaving you _alone_ on the side of a mountain,” Tony said. “Not with _that_ coming in.” He squinted back upslope, trying to gauge how far down Bucky had tumbled before coming to a stop. Going up was _lots_ slower than going down. He twisted his foot to pop off one ski, and then the other, and offered Bucky one of his poles for leverage. “Sure you’re okay?”

“No,” Bucky said, getting to his feet. “Bit numb. I’ll check it out as soon as we’re outta the weather. Got snow down my frickin’ ski pants.” He shook himself all over like a dog getting out of the bathtub, and then sighed. “Onward and upward, excelsior.”

The wind was already picking up by the time they saw the cabin again, and the amount of light had dropped dramatically. Ski boots were not meant for hiking; Tony’s legs ached with the effort of the climb, and he was sweating under his jacket. Which meant he was going to be freezing as soon as they stopped moving. He hoped the cabin had a good heater.

“Shit,” Bucky said. “There’s no one here.” Bucky eyed the place. “In case of emergency, break glass.” He checked the door, just to make sure it wasn’t open -- it wasn’t -- and then turned and elbowed one of the tiny windows sharply. “If it sets off an alarm, maybe they’ll send emergency services on snowmobiles.”

Tony nodded. “I will pay whatever damages and fines they want to slap us with, as long as we can get out of this storm.” The temperature was dropping, too, he was pretty sure, and the falling snow was getting heavier.

Bucky unlocked the door by reaching around and fiddling with the knob through the broken out window.

The building was tiny -- a small first aid shack with an A frame, a desk, one cot, and a cast iron stove, a stack of wood next to it. Bucky flicked the lights, but nothing happened. “Lovely. Well, it’s better than bein’ out in the snow. Visibility out there is like, zero.”

“Yeah.” Tony looked around for a way to block up the hole they’d made in the window, but there wasn’t much in the way of materials, and no tools to nail up a couple of pieces of the firewood. “You see a phone anywhere?” He unzipped his pocket and fished out his cell. _No Service._

“Lookin’,” Bucky said, using his phone as a flashlight. “It’s as dark as the bottom of Satan’s boots in here. Ah!” He did, in fact, find a phone, but when he picked up the receiver, Bucky frowned. He rattled the disconnect buttons a few times. “It’s dead. They musta closed this one up for the season.” He shuffled around in the desk a few times and came up with a file folder and some tape. “Here, we can try’n seal off the hole with this. Can you build a fire, or shall we pretend that my boy scouting was worth a damn?”

Tony took the folder and the tape. It wasn’t much. “You give it a shot,” he said. “I’ve never been camping. All the fires I’ve seen have been for aesthetics.” He tore off a strip of tape and pressed the file against the hole in the window. As long as the wind wasn’t coming straight through, he thought it would hold. Probably. He tore off another long strip.

“Or, I’ll cheat,” Bucky said, pleased. “They’ve got a firestarter kit.” He loaded up the stove, and it wasn’t long before the fire caught. It would take longer before the fire warmed up even that small space, but it was a start.

Bucky gave Tony a quick, indecipherable look, and stripped out of his snow gear, turning it all inside out and hanging it around on the few chairs. He was wearing form-fitting athletic pants underneath, the sweat wicking stuff, and a maroon sweater. “You’ll wanna take that off, get it dry.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” They couldn’t possibly be any farther from that comfortable, opulent room in the Four Seasons, but Tony couldn’t help but remember it as he took off his gear and draped it over the desk to dry.

“Right, let’s see what supplies we got to work with.”

The wind howled outside, and the file folder taped over the window fluttered a little, but didn’t fall. Yet. Tony switched his phone to flashlight mode and started pulling open desk drawers. “If they’ve already shut this post down for the spring, we’re not likely to find much,” he pointed out. He fished out a little first aid kit -- just bandages and alcohol wipes and aspirin, really; anyone who needed more than that was going to need an actual evac -- and tossed it up on top of the desk.

“I dunno, I used to lifeguard at the local pool,” Bucky said, “and we were s’posed to pack everything up for the season. Inevitably, we found shit at the beginning of the next season that--ha!” Bucky pulled out a stack of blankets from one cabinet and behind them-- a six pack of Zima, and three bottles of gatorade. “Freshman year of college memories… ug.”

He squatted down, peering in the depths of the cabinet for more goodies-- coming up with a box of instant oatmeal packets, and a bottle of Planters peanuts.

“So we won’t starve before morning,” Tony said. “Great.” The desk turned up a maintenance schedule that had the resort’s upkeep office number printed on the letterhead, which would be useful if the storm cleared up enough for their cell phones to work again. A half-empty box of chemical hand-warmers. And a couple of paperback novels, one action-thriller and one lurid romance.

Tony dropped his finds on the desk and reached for one of the blankets, unfolding it to wrap around his shoulders like a cape. He sat down on one end of the little cot, leaving room for Bucky at the other end. “Guess we’re just waiting it out.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Bucky said. He sat down, resting his face on his palms, scrubbing aimlessly at his face.

“It’s not your fault,” Tony said. He shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. “Just shit luck.” He wasn’t entirely certain whether he was talking about the storm or their relationship that never was.

“Yeah, no, I mean, I know that,” Bucky said, reasonably. “Still feels like a screw up. Maybe it’d be different, if it weren’t _you_.” He popped the top off one of the Zimas and took a heroic swallow. “I cannot believe they brought this shit back. Want one?”

“Dear god, no,” Tony said, even as he reached out for a bottle. “Ug, this is even worse than that shit you were going to buy me when I beat you to the bottom.” He took another swallow anyway. “What do you mean, if it weren’t _me?_ ”

Bucky slanted a look at him, full of-- regret? “You don’t think about it, none?”

Tony could have lied. Probably should have, really. But he took another swig of Zima and said, “Sure, of course. I thought... Well. That’s irrelevant now, I guess. You’ve got Steve.”

“An’ if I hadn’t met you, I think I’d be okay with that,” Bucky said. He wasn’t looking at Tony, instead staring at the wall over the stove.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Tony said. “You’ve known Steve practically your whole life.”

“Yeah, I have,” Bucky said. “And I’ve known you about a week, now, I guess, for time spent. An’ all our friends are happy for us. ‘Cept maybe Nat. I think she sees right through me, sometimes. I dunno. I can’t decide if you’re my biggest what if, or if it’s just-- settlin’ down’s got me thinkin’ about _more_.”

“Oh, Jesus, Bucky. Don’t... I’ve played the what-if game, too, but you can’t... you can’t throw a whole _lifetime_ away over one admittedly very hot night.”

“I dunno why I even said anything,” Bucky said. “Maybe I was hopin’ you’d laugh at me, tell me I was bein’ stupid. But I’m _not_ , am I?” That time, Bucky gave Tony a very direct stare, hot and intense. “You feel it, too.”

Tony closed his eyes and pulled the blanket a little closer around himself. “You’re _engaged,_ ” he said, because he wasn’t _that_ asshole.

“No, you’re-- you’re right,” Bucky said, and there was a little crack in his voice. “I’m overthinkin’ shit. I’m… I’m engaged, and you’re… not Steve.”

Bucky went silent then, getting up to throw another few logs in the stove. The little log cabin was getting warmer, but the wind still howling outside. It would have been completely romantic, except for how it was, in fact, heartbreaking.

Dividing up the supplies -- Bucky heated snowmelt to cook up the oatmeal in some old coffee mugs -- made a cheerless little meal, not enough to really satisfy. Tony thought he might have felt hungrier after than he did before.

Conversations started and dragged to a halt, the air practically screaming with everything they weren’t saying. It got too dark to see much of anything, and Bucky piled up the blankets and the now dried ski-suits. “Come on,” he said. “We c’n sleep, it’ll go faster.”

It wasn’t what Tony had planned, for the second time they would sleep together. But then, nothing about this was going the way Tony had planned. Typical.


	5. O2 - Cheek Kiss

Bucky leaned back against the park bench, watching the game of pick up basketball going on in the next lot over while Steve scowled at his drawing pad and erased a line. After a moment, he drew it back.

“This ain’t my idea of goin’ for a walk, pal,” Bucky teased, nudging Steve’s foot with his own. At least the weather was nice; it’d been raining most of the week and Bucky felt like he was growing mold.

Steve grunted, sketching around the line lightly, trying to find a more pleasing angle or something. “Only so far I can go at a time, Buck.”

Bucky tried to settle, pulling out his phone and poking aimlessly at the most recently match-3 game he was playing. It didn’t go so well, but he kept himself entertained for a few minutes, at least.

“You know, we never really talked about this whole change in the relationship status… thing,” Bucky said, absently licking his front teeth while he thought about how to phrase things. He’d woken up twice that week from dreams about Tony, and it didn’t seem to matter how much he told himself to get the fuck over it, he really wasn’t. And that wasn’t fair.

Not to Tony. Not to Steve.

_And not to me._

“What’s to talk about?” Steve wondered. “I didn’t figure anything was really going to change, except on paper.”

Bucky looked down at his hands and the way the ring glinted, obvious, against his skin. He hesitated, because if there was a truth, and he knew it, would it change anything? “You’re-- I mean, are you thinkin’ this is something that’ll… happen? Most people get married because, theoretically, they’re in love. Or joinin’ property, but I got nothin’ and you got nothin’, so that’s pretty much right out.”

Steve leaned back a little, turning to squint at Bucky in the early summer sun. “You’re the one who brought it up in the first place, Buck. What’s on your mind?”

“Bucky’s bucket list,” Bucky said. “Go to college, get a job, get married, have a life. I dunno. Turning thirty’s got me down a bit. I haven’t done-- you know, _anything_. I didn’t know what I wanted, so I wasn’t finding it. Getting married, it was… you know, abstract. Right up until it wasn’t.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not supposed to get cold feet until, like, the night before the wedding.”

“Am I a complete asshole for sayin’ yeah, maybe, I am?” Bucky wondered. “I mean, you’re my best friend in the whole world, there ain’t-- and marriage is mostly a piece of paper and an agreement. Tax breaks and shared health insurance policies and the right to speak on your behalf in a medical emergency. But it’s also supposed to be _something else_. I guess what I’m askin’, and I know I’m bein’ a dick about it, but-- are you… are we… trying to become _us_? Like an actual us, a couple, thing?”

He loved Steve, _he did_ , and maybe if Steve felt more of that romantic part of it, partners instead of pals, then he could try that. Although honestly, the idea of kissing Steve still didn’t do anything for him. It was possible he could try it out, though. He hadn’t thought he’d really feel anything for anyone until the first time he got kissed, and it lit a fire in him.

Steve blinked at him, astonished. “Are you... Are you asking... What? If I’ve been secretly crushing on you, all this time?”

Bucky snorted, feeling vaguely offended. “It’s not entirely ridiculous, is it?”

“Don’t you think I’d’a said something before this, if that were the case?” Steve wondered. “Jeez, we been livin’ together since forever.”

“Yes, we have,” Bucky said. And that was true. Steve’s mom had died and pretty much the next week, Steve had moved in. Steve had managed to dodge the system long enough to get legal adulthood before anyone realized he should have been in foster care for a few months. And they’d been together even before that, just as neighbors and friends; Steve staying over more often than not.

If Steve had been pining, it would have been an epic case of it.

“So, that’s a no, then?” Because Bucky still wanted to be _sure_. As Tony had said, it was his whole life, and he didn’t want to throw it away on something that Might Be.

Steve rolled his eyes. “That’s a no, Buck.”

Bucky told himself that he didn’t sigh in relief, that he didn’t feel like some stupid weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “That’s… that’s good,” Bucky said. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’d feel like shit if I did something stupid like broke your heart.” He nudged Steve in the side with his elbow. “You do… you know, have one, right?”

“Nah,” Steve said, grinning a little. “Lump of coal, right there.” He thumped himself on the chest, then cocked his head at Bucky curiously. “Were you planning to break my heart?” he wondered.

“Ain’t plannin’ to, no,” Bucky said, carefully. “But I’d be an entire ass, no parts missing, if I didn’t… I mean, I love you, Stevie, you know that. But I don’t think I… _love you_. Jesus, that sounds so fifth fuckin’ grade, don’t it? If there was a chance you felt different, then you know, I-- something could grow, I guess. But if there’s not… then, well, I… met someone.”

God that sounded lame. So, so lame.

“You... met someone? Like... _met?_ ” Steve was staring. “When did that happen?”

“God, I’m such a dick,” Bucky told the ground. “A while ago, really. Couple months. Been trying to get over it.”

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “It’s only been, what, not even three months since your birthday,” he pointed out. “How come I haven’t heard about this before? Where’d you meet ‘im? On that ski trip?”

“You hadn’t heard about it because we are _engaged_. Very publically, I might add,” Bucky said. “I didn’t… I mean, it could have just been a thing, right? I have _things_. I get… crushes. I thought it would go away. But it’s really not, pal.”

“So are you... calling things off?” Steve asked. “Or... just checking to make sure you can still date? Or what?”

“He knows I’m engaged,” Bucky said. “And I think _actively horrified_ is a good descriptor for how he feels on gettin’ in the way of that. I think-- I think if I have a shot with this guy at all. Then we gotta come at it, clean slate.”

Bit late for that, really. Tony already knew what a mess the situation was, but if he could ditch the ring, if it was officially over, well. Maybe it would be better. And Bucky could _explain_.

_Explain that you’re so desperate to look normal that you have a checksheet for your life, and married with 2.4 pets and the white picket and all that was your end goal? He’s gonna think you’re picking out curtains and run for the hills._

Sometimes Bucky hated the voice that lived in his head. It never had anything nice to say.

Steve was looking down at his pencil, twisting it around in his fingers. After a while, he looked up, a wistful little smile on his face. “Gotta admit,” he said, “I’m not _in love_ with you, but I was kinda getting into the whole idea of knowin’ I’d always have you at my back, you know? But the whole point of this--” He waved one hand randomly. “--was because neither of us had anyone else. If you think you’ve got someone else, someone you might have a chance at... You’ve gotta give it a try.” He leaned in and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “No hard feelings, pal. Go get your guy.”

“I’m not gonna be that guy, Steve,” Bucky told him, taking both of Steve’s hands and squeezing. “I’m not going to _abandon_ you for-- not for anything. You and me, ‘til the end of the line.” He checked Steve’s expression; Steve was a shitty liar, but there wasn’t any trace of anguish on his face, nothing to say he was putting up a brave front. “Thank you.”

***

Normally, Tony paid an extra fee for his tailor to come to him in Manhattan. But after a solid week of rain, he’d wanted an excuse to take out one of the convertibles before the scorching heat of summer poured over the city like syrup. So he’d hopped in the Aston Martin and made his own way into Brooklyn, where the little bespoke-hipster storefront was.

He ordered a couple of summerweight suits and a bunch of new shirts and ties, and dropped off a pair of pants to be re-hemmed after he’d snagged them on a nail that had been sticking out of a display. And then, the weather being so nice, he decided to take a look at the park that he’d passed on his way in.

It was a cute little bit of cultivated lawn, not even remotely wild, or even trying. Every bush was because someone planted it there, and every bench was placed to take advantage of the view.

Clear line of sight, too.

But it was still nice.

Right up until he heard a familiar voice. It was one date, one awkward week, he shouldn’t be craning his neck looking for a familiar face from the sound of his voice on the breeze.

But there he was.

There _they_ were. Bucky and Steve.

Even as Tony watched, Steve leaned over to kiss Bucky’s cheek. Gentle. Loving. It shouldn’t be nearly enough to feel like a stab to the heart.

Bucky took Steve’s hands, looking so very earnest, and if Tony couldn’t make out his every word, well, enough of it drifted his way. “I’m... Steve... not going... anything. You and me, ‘til the end...”

A lump filled Tony’s throat. They really did look great together. They seemed so happy. So loving. And Tony... would be the _worst_ kind of asshole if he even thought about splitting them up. He needed to just get it through his head that this was never going to happen. This was real life. There were no miracles.

He made himself turn away, striding back through the little park without really looking at it. He got back to his car and fished out his phone. He stared blankly at the OkCupid app for a moment, then stabbed at it with his finger.

If he couldn’t have Mr. Right, then he needed a Mr. Right Now to help him forget.

***

Bucky had a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach, whirring and spinning and looping, a maddening feeling. But exciting, too.

He took his phone out-- it had taken him almost a week after that day in the park to decide what he wanted to do, how he wanted to ask. And now that it was time, he had such a bad case of nerves, he wanted to throw up.

He pushed his window up and looked out; yeah, there was the moon, super full, super bright, just past the edge of the city. Tony lived in a penthouse, he could probably see it, too.

Or, at least, Bucky could imagine that Tony was sitting, somewhere, under that exact same moon, those same stars.

He took a few deep breaths and then tapped Tony’s face on his phone. _Dialing..._

The voice that answered was... not Tony’s. Masculine but smooth and silky and just a little higher-pitched than Tony’s voice. “Tony’s phone, who is this?”

“A friend of Tony’s,” Bucky said, suspiciously. “Who is _this_?”

The voice chuckled. “Mm, so much _more_ than a friend. You’ll have to leave a message; Tony’s a little tied up right now.”

In the background, only just barely loud enough for Bucky to hear, Tony’s voice said, “Is that _my_ phone? What the-- Give me that, who is it?”

“No one important, darling,” purred not-Tony. “They’ll call back later.” And with a soft beep, the call disconnected.

Bucky spent a few minutes staring at his phone. He shouldn’t be shocked, really. It was only fair that Tony would move on, find someone else. He was single, he was fucking gorgeous, he was--

_...supposed to be available_ , a tiny, disappointed voice said. Bucky blinked a few times, his eyes doing that burning, gritty thing, and his nose going suddenly stuffy. _He was supposed to wait for me._

That was what happened in story books and movies. But here in real life, people made mistakes and they had to live with the consequences. There was no room full of roses for Bucky to make it up. He couldn’t stand on the hood of a car with a boombox and win Tony back.

_Movies,_ Bucky thought _, do not much prepare people for real life._

Because of course they didn’t. That’s why they were movies.

Bucky shot out a quick text to Tony. _So, he hung up on me. You gonna call me and tell me who that was?_

It took longer for a reply to arrive than Bucky was hoping for. Maybe that was just a time-dilation effect of waiting for it, like watching for water to boil. But eventually, the phone buzzed with a response. _Guy I’ve been seeing for a while. Sorry about that, he thinks he’s funny. Need anything important?_

Oh.

He wondered if it was serious. Of course, Bucky didn’t generally let anyone touch his phone, unless he was showing them a funny meme on Facebook or something. His phone was like… his thoughts. His life. It was _his_.

But maybe Tony didn’t feel quite so personal about his phone. For Bucky, letting someone else answer his phone was… serious business. Like having a key to his apartment serious.

_Yeah? Going well? You like him? I don’t need anything if you’re busy, just wanted to catch up. See how you’re doing. There’s a Lyriads’ meteor shower just after the new moon this month. Maybe you want to go upstate with me and see it?_

Bucky scowled at his phone. It was going to break the text up into like three pieces, but he sent it anyway. The butterflies in his stomach turned into wasps doing the Macarena.

_Going okay,_ Tony’s response came back. _It’s no epic romance like you and Steve have, but we can’t all have storybook endings. I’ll check my calendar and get back to you on the meteors._

_Yeah, okay._

Bucky didn’t expect to hear back.

Maybe Tony was just the guy who fell in love easily, and Bucky was giving away his whole heart in a chance encounter. Maybe what he had with Steve was as storybook as it was going to get.

_Fuck._

Bucky gave it three days. When he didn’t hear from Tony, he told Steve. “So, yeah, Tony’s got a boyfriend now,” he admitted, doing his best to sound less _disappointed_ and more like he was mocking himself.

Steve was silent for a shocked few seconds. “Your guy is _Tony?_ ” A pause. “Or... _was_ Tony. Shit, Buck, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, nah,” Bucky said, “it’s fine. Probably wasn’t meant to be. You know how I get. Workin’ stuff up in my head until it’s more than it means. I’m fine. It was nothing.” Bucky chewed his lip. “Why d’you sound so surprised?”

“I dunno, I guess I just figured if it was someone I’d met, you would’ve told me. Tony, huh? Yeah, I guess I can see that. You go for nerdy guys, usually.”

“Yeah, _you’re_ the biggest damn nerd I ever met,” Bucky said. Tony wasn’t _nerdy_. He was a geek, it was completely different.

Steve snorted. “Yeah, yeah. So... that mean the wedding’s back on?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Good thing we didn’t stage a messy break up or nothin’. I think Natasha would kill both of us, honestly. You know, assumin’ you forgive me for bein’ a jerk.” Despite Steve swearing that he wasn’t secretly crushing on Bucky, there had to be some importance to the fact that it had been, like… the second thing Steve had asked. Maybe Bucky would just learn to be in love. That was the saying, right? If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.

Maybe those old songs had something going for them.

Maybe.

 


	6. I3 - Receive Bad News

Ty Stone was no Bucky Barnes.

But Bucky Barnes was engaged to the love of his life, and if Tony was really, _really_ lucky, they’d still be friends, once Tony had finished getting over him.

Ty... was not engaged to anyone. He was good-looking, in a completely different way than Bucky, and he was good in bed (if a bit self-centered), and he was smart, and funny in a sort of snarky, bordering-on-cruel way. He was kind of a social climber, but Tony had dated worse.

And really, it wasn’t Ty’s fault that he wasn’t Bucky. Tony just needed to _get over_ Bucky, and everything would be _fine_.

He was working diligently on the Project Get Over It. He’d started that process by trying to get out more, letting Ty pick him up at one of the insufferable _events_ that Pepper made him attend from time to time. He’d hit a major milestone by _not_ going with Bucky to an astronomy event that actually had sounded like a lot of fun. When was the last time he’d gone actual _stargazing_?

Never, that was when, and it was going to keep on being never, because he wasn’t _dating_ Bucky, he was dating Ty Stone.

He hadn’t quite gone all the way to deleting Bucky’s few precious text messages, or blocking the number on his phone. He couldn't, he reasoned, if they were going to be friends.

But he’d managed to dodge  _two whole events_ that Rhodey wanted him to go to, with Sam, that might have put him in close quarters with Bucky (and Steve, by proxy, who was probably a good guy, and obviously, he was great, and Bucky loved him, and that wasn’t Steve’s fault at all, but Tony really didn’t want to spend time with the guy.)

He was fine. He was going to be _fine_.

Also, he was going to surprise his boyfriend with _front row_ tickets to _Hamilton_ \-- Ty had almost no interest in the theater itself, but being able to say he’d gone, probably ending up on social media, and getting pap photos taken would make Ty happy, even if he’d snark about the play itself the whole time.

His boyfriend who wasn’t Bucky, and Bucky may or may not have wanted to go to Hamilton. Tony had never asked. But somehow, Bucky seemed like the kind of guy who would want to go, and not just for the social currency of being able to say he'd gone.

And Tony was going to stop comparing Bucky and Ty, any time now. Tony sighed at himself and patted the breast pocket where he’d stashed the tickets. Ty. He was taking _Ty_ to the show, and whatever the reason for it, Ty was going to be grateful and they’d go and enjoy it, and Tony would feel good for having done something nice for his _actual boyfriend_ and not a wistful might-have-been.

Right. Tony straightened his shoulders and put on a big smile, and swept into the penthouse. “Ty?” Ty wasn’t lounging in the main living room, where he usually was when Tony came home from work. Well, Tony was quite a bit earlier than usual. Maybe Ty was taking a shower or something.

That had promise, right? Big surprise, sexy situation, it was a scene with lots of potential.

Tony took the stairs two at a time.

His hand was on the doorknob before he realized what he was hearing. A soft sigh that turned into a moan; a distinctively sexy moan. A distinctively sexy _female_ moan.

“Honey--” and that was _Ty_ “--you’ve--” there was the sound of kissing, wet and heated, and then “--got to put your clothes back on--” More sounds, a feminine laugh. “--and get out of here before he gets home. I don’t want to lose my meal ticket, no matter how nice your breasts are.”

Ice clawed at Tony’s chest. _Meal ticket_. Was that all Tony was? And Ty had fucked this woman in _Tony’s bed?_ The ice turned to rage, and Tony pushed the door open, teeth grinding. “Get out.”

The woman looked over her shoulder at Tony as she moved on Ty, giving him an almost sensual pout. “Wouldn’t you rather join us?” And he _knew_ her; had actually _dated_ her briefly, just after college. Sunset Bain. “So nice to see you again, Tony.”

Which was nothing compared to Ty’s look of shock, sudden horror, covered clumsily by a mask of unconcern. “I _told_ you,” he said.

“ _Out,_ ” Tony said again. “Both of you.” He stepped to the side, leaving the doorway clear, and pointed. “Right. Now.”

Sunset was languid, sliding out of bed and gathering her scattered clothes. She vanished into the bathroom, presumably to dress and not to steal Tony’s guest soaps or something. Although, knowing Sunset, she might be.

“Tony--” Ty protested, “Look, seriously, honey, it was a _mistake_. Sunset and I have known each other a while. She was the one who told me about you, when we first met, remember, I told you a friend had said you--”

“Sunset Bain stole my intellectual property under the guise of dating me,” Tony snapped. “If she’s the one who told you about me, then I _definitely_ don’t want any more to do with _either_ of you. Get your shit and get the hell out of here.”

“Tony--”

Sunset came out of the bathroom, her shoes dangling from one finger, but otherwise dressed. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed, messy and sated and satisfied. It didn’t do anything for Tony aside from make him feel vaguely sick. “Don’t grovel, Tiberius. It’s not a good look.”

Ty yanked his trousers on, commando, and picked up the rest of his clothes. “I’ll… look, I’ll call you, Tony, we can talk about this, right?”

“Don’t forget your toothbrush,” Sunset said with a careless laugh. “If you run fast enough, Tiberius, I’ll share a cab with you.”

Tony didn’t say any more. He just stood there, barely able to even _look_ at them as they gathered up their belongings and left.

And then he stood there for quite a while longer than that.

Slowly, he became aware that the room still smelled like sex. He spun on his heel and slammed out. Down the stairs and into the elevator, blindly staring at the street and the cars below as he descended.

He didn’t even acknowledge the security guard as he swept by, keeping himself from vomiting on the lobby floor through nothing more than sheer force of will. He pushed out into the city and started walking, stretching his legs and feeling the blood pounding through him.

He wasn’t entirely certain how far or how long he’d walked. When he came back to himself, he was in a part of town he didn’t know well, though it looked vaguely familiar. Though nearly every place looked a little familiar, really, in that “still in New York” kind of way.

He turned in a slow circle, trying to get his bearings. Shops, a passing bus, a row of apartments--

Oh, fuck. He was in front of Bucky and Steve’s apartment, wasn’t he?

Well, that wasn’t stalker-y or obsessive at all, was it? He stared up at the window for a moment; he was absolutely going to keep right on walking--

“Oh! _Tony_ , hi!” A voice greeted him, and right behind the voice was the man himself, impossibly perfect. Well, as perfect as someone could be who was dressed in a greasy jumpsuit, peeled down to the waist, a practically see-thru white tank top, and a smudge of oil on his cheek, and a matching one on his forehead.

Which, for the record, was pretty damned perfect.

Tony closed his eyes. “Bucky. Hey. Sorry, I... I got some bad news, and I just...” He shook his head. “Sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just head back.”

“Hey… no, are you-- well, of course you’re not okay. Look, why don’t you come in for a bit, I’ll get you a lousy beer an’ you can tell me about it. Or at least come in an’ cool off before you call a cab or something. You-- pardon me for sayin’ it, you look like five miles of bad road at the moment. Don’t want you passin’ out from heat exhaustion, that won’t do anyone a bit of good.” Bucky shifted his tool box from one hand to the other. “Come on?”

And he shouldn’t, _god_ , he should just... walk away, let Bucky go home to Steve and enjoy his Tony-free life, but... He couldn’t. He just needed to be close to Bucky for a little while, needed to breathe in the calm and concern and... This was something that friends could do, right? Drop in to bitch about their cheating exes and have a beer?

Tony took a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. For a bit.”

“Yeah?” And Bucky smiled, that cheerful, wide, easy smile, like being around Tony made him _happy_. “You need me t’ just rattle on a bit, while you process your bad news? Because I’ll tell ya, I gotta hand it to those Maytag commercials, they really make people think their washin’ machine ain’t gonna break, and then when it does, hoo-boy, they are pissed as hell. I don’t work for Maytag, but man, I got an earful today.”

Tony listened to Bucky rambling while they took the elevator up to the apartment. Bucky put his toolbox away and washed the grease from his hands and then pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge. It was nice, really. Soothing. Like the cold beer sliding down his parched throat.

He let Bucky steer him toward the sofa, sat down and took another sip of the beer. He fixed his eyes on the wall -- a framed drawing of the Brooklyn Bridge that had probably been done by Steve -- and interrupted Bucky’s story with, “I walked in on Ty and one of my exes.”

Bucky made a wounded noise in his throat, like someone had stepped on a kitten. “Oh, man, that… that sucks Tony,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” Tony said, laughing mirthlessly. “I knew her. She and I dated for all of about two months, ages ago -- just long enough for her to trick me into giving up a bunch of company secrets that she then turned right around and made a huge profit off of. And it turns out she’s the one who told Ty to look me up in the first place. The whole thing was going to be another corporate spy scam, I guess.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “And just underneath the... you know, the disappointment and the anger. The worst of it? Is that I’m actually... kind of relieved.”

“Just couldn’t see yourself wakin’ up to him, every day?” Bucky asked. He lifted his hand a few times, as if he wanted to hug Tony, or pat him on the shoulder or something and didn’t quite dare. “I mean, I don’t like to bash on people’s exes, but he didn’t impress me in the few minutes he was on the phone, you know, right before he said I was no one important. And I mean, I ain’t, I know that, but you don’t jus’--” Bucky trailed off, then apparently decided to go ahead and pat Tony’s shoulder, which turned into a gentle, soothing circle being rubbed on his back.

“That was a shit thing for him to say,” Tony said, suddenly certain. Suddenly thinking about all the cruel, sly things that Ty liked to say, that Tony hadn’t argued about because they hadn’t been aimed directly at Tony. “I should’ve... I should’ve kicked him out right then,” he realized. “Even if you _weren’t_ important to me -- which, I mean, we’re _friends_ , that’s important.” It almost didn’t feel like a lie. He and Bucky _were_ friends, weren’t they? “But even if you weren’t, that’s still a shit thing to say. Everyone’s important to someone.”

“Well, I know, I mean, you’re important,” Bucky said, his hand still making those soothing circles on Tony’s back, “you know, to me. To Jim. You know, he tells the most outrageous stories about you when you’re not around. I’m sorry that Ty turned out to be a terrible person. You don’t deserve that.”

Tony almost wanted to argue that maybe he _did_ deserve it, in some obscure sort of way. For trying to replace Bucky. For trying to move on.

But he was suddenly caught up short by the realization that Rhodey was hanging out with Bucky. When Tony wasn’t there. Which... okay, Rhodey was dating Bucky’s friend Sam, sure, that was... that was probably reasonable. But telling _stories_ about him? What the hell kind of stories was Rhodey telling the guy that Rhodey knew damn well Tony was still a little hung up on? “Wait. What kind of stories?”

“You know, _stories_ ,” Bucky said, like this was something Tony should know about. “College stories, and post-college bullshit, and the time you actually threatened to use Stark Industries’ military contracts -- which were up for renewal -- against some major who was making life hard for one Airman Rhodes. You are God, Sonny Jesus, and his annoying kid brother to that man. It’s a hoot.”

Tony couldn’t help a little bit of a smile. He’d almost forgotten about that incident. “That... sounds about right,” he admitted. “As long as he didn’t tell you about the thing with the stripper.”

“The stripper with the snake, or was there another story?” Bucky tugged Tony in and gave him one of those side squeezes.

“I plead the Fifth,” Tony said, laughing, trying to absorb all of Bucky’s warmth and affection while pretending that it didn’t mean as much as it did. “Excuse me for a minute; I have a best friend I need to murder.”

“I know that feeling,” Bucky said. “You want to stick around for a bit, I was gonna watch _Fifth Element_ tonight. It’s a tradition. I always watch terrible sci-fi movies whenever Steve’s gone for the weekend. Otherwise, he sits on the sofa and mocks the science and the plot and points out the bad makeup. Which, great, yeah, MST3000 the hell out of out stuff, but my god, shut up and let me watch the damn movie, sometimes, would ya, pal?”

He should say no, especially if Steve wasn’t going to be coming home to keep things honest.

But Tony wasn’t Ty, damn it; no matter how much he might want to, he wasn’t going to cheat, or try to talk someone else into cheating. And he couldn’t go home. His bedroom probably still smelled like _them_ , like Ty and Sunset and the sex they’d had while planning how to take advantage of Tony, and... And spending an evening watching a fun but objectively bad sci-fi movie actually sounded _perfect_.

“That... Yeah, I’d like that,” Tony said. “I’ll spring for pizza?” That was a thing friends did. Tony could do this, he could be Bucky’s friend, could let Bucky be _his_ friend, and it wouldn’t be so bad, right?

“Great,” Bucky said, pushing up off the sofa. “You can call, I’m gonna go change into something a little less gross than work clothes. I’m easy on toppings; no salty fish, no fruit, including tomatoes, ug. No olives, green peppers, or meatballs. Who puts meatballs on pizza? That’s just stupid. Other than that.”

Tony snorted. “That is _not_ ‘easy’, Buckaroo, but it’s doable. Pepperoni, sausage, and bacon, because if we’re going to watch dumb sci-fi then we’re required to clog our arteries in the hope that a heart attack will save us from having to watch it all.” He grinned and made a little shooing gesture. “Go change, I’ll place an order.”

“It’s easier than Sam. Text Jim about it… just ask him how Sam likes his pizza,” Bucky called, the words floating over his shoulder as he headed for the back room.

Curious, Tony shot off a text to Rhodey before he googled the local pizza options. While he was still considering the options, his phone started buzzing practically nonstop.

_OMG_

_DO NOT GET ME STARTED_

_Too late I am started._

_Let me tell you about Sammy’s god damned fucking pizza nonsense--_

And if Bucky was in his bedroom for a little longer than it took to change out of his coverall -- his face and arms looked fresh-scrubbed -- he wasn’t gone long enough for Tony to even get half of the epic saga of Sam and his damn specialty pizza from some obscure little pizzaria out at the ass end of nowhere.


	7. N3 - Free

Bucky Barnes was a bad person.

Seriously. Evil. Bad. Full of Wrongosity.

He should get it printed on a business card. Bucky Barnes: Sinner. Pass them out at parties or something.

He should decidedly not be lusting after a man who’d just gotten the wind knocked out of his sails, full force. And as hard as Tony was trying to conceal just how badly hurt and angry and upset and _humiliated_ he was, Bucky could see it. It wasn’t just that he had been conned, again -- and really, no one should have to put up with that, Tony shouldn’t have to worry that every new date was going to be someone pulling a fast one on him -- but he was legitimately mourning.

Ty Stone had been holding onto Tony’s fragile heart and had dropped it, without even a thought.

And Bucky Barnes should not be gleeful about the fact that Tony had come to him to help pick up the pieces.

That was like, the worst.

_Vulture._

He stared at himself in the mirror for a long time.

Made some pretenses at cleaning up, changed out of his work clothes and into a pair of soft joggers and a slightly less oily tee.

Tony hadn’t noticed Bucky’s too-long absence from lecturing himself on his rotten behavior, at least. Tony was too busy cackling at the texts coming in from Jim.

Bucky allowed himself a smile; at least he’d done that much for Tony, helped to cheer him up. A little.

He tossed the disc into the console and hit the button to get it started. “Subtitles? We keep ‘em on most of the time for Clint, and then, it just got that way. I swear, it’s so much easier to follow along if you can read the dialogue. Also, _footsteps squishing in entrails_ is my favorite subtitled noise descriptor, ever.”

Tony glanced up from his phone with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t remember any entrails in Fifth Element,” he admitted. “But yeah, leave the subtitles on, that’s fine.” He sat back into the corner of the sofa, tucking his feet up beside him. “Pizza’s on the way,” he added. “I got a few. If we don’t eat it all, you can have the leftovers.”

“It’s not--” Bucky waved his hand around. “We just got in the habit… and I’ve discovered all sorts of neat things, just because I couldn’t understand them in the movie theater. Like, sometimes there’s original script lines that they changed.” He dropped onto the opposite corner, leaving the space between them for the ghost of Relationships That Would Never Be.

“Saw someone with a license plate that said ‘Aziz lite’ once,” Bucky told Tony as the movie started. “It was like a little victory flag… another geek. Out in public an’ everything.”

Tony chuckled, thumbs flying as he sent a last text to Jim and then turned off his phone, tossing it onto the coffee table. “I love that. It’s always a little bit of a thrill, like encountering another member of the secret brotherhood or something.” He smirked. “Which probably makes me even more of a nerd than I was before I said that out loud.”

“This message brought to you by the Illuminati,” Bucky said.

He waited five seconds, and it was in perfect stereo when they both said it together; “The Illuminati do not exist.”

Tony grinned and held up his hand for a high-five. “Saw a bumper sticker the other day that said ‘Sith Happens’,” he volunteered. His eyes were on the TV screen as he took a swallow of his beer, throat working in ways that Bucky should definitely not be thinking about.

Bucky nodded, watching Tony out of the corner of his eye, like he was pretending not to be doing. “I still think I was cheated out of my flying cars.” On the screen, the priest took the key from the alien race shaped like stuffed horseshoes and yelled about his promises. “I mean, seriously--” He waved a hand at the screen where Korbin Dallas was a flying taxi driver. “On the other hand, I have seen my sister’s drivin’ and I ain’t sure I want her to be able to do it on multiple vectors at once.”

“Mm, talk nerdy to me, baby,” Tony quipped, but it was more flip than flirtatious. “I did a preliminary report on the mechanical requirements of a flying car for one of my classes, once. It’s theoretically possible, but the energy requirements are kind of exorbitant.”

“Pfft. Money. It’s only paper,” Bucky said. Which was a flat-out lie. It wasn’t even paper anymore. Most currency existed in some sort of weird cyber space, moved from bank to bank without ever seeing a moment of time in meatspace.

The movie contined. Leelou Dallas Multipass. Ruby Rod. All that good stuff. The pizza delivery driver came, was tipped, left again.

“You did not,” Bucky said, eying the pizza. With Sam’s weird pizza preferences on it. “Seriously? You better eat this.”

Tony cackled and slid a wedge of the monstrosity onto a paper plate. “I got curious,” he said. He scooped up his phone, tipped the plate and the phone this way and that for a moment to get the angle just right, and took a picture.

“Ug. Raw tomatoes,” Bucky said. “Gross.” He checked the other boxes, grabbed the whole damn box of extra meats, and ate right out of the box. God, he was hungry. Stupid contract jobs. When he ran late, he tended to skip lunch. The smell of the pizza was enough to make his stomach crawl out of his mouth and go hunting for it. He folded the slice and shoved about half of it in his mouth at once.

Tony rolled his eyes. “But _I’m_ the gross one? Okay.” The corner of his lip curved up, though, before he made a show of taking a bite of the pizza, making sure to get a slice of tomato.

“Oh shut up,” Bucky said, although given that he had a mouthful of pizza, Tony probably heard “ooh uuu uuuh” instead. He emphasized his point by flipping Tony off. “Watch the movie, Miss Manners.”

Tony grinned and re-settled into the corner of the couch. “Multipass,” he agreed, and reached out with one foot to shove playfully at Bucky’s leg.

Bucky patted Tony’s calf, and then tried to ignore the fact that Tony’s toes ended up under his thigh. It was easy and comfortable and weirdly sweet all at the same time. _God, it would be so easy to love you_ , he thought. It wasn’t first date behavior, all the social normals, and trying not to scare someone off. It was being himself, with someone who appreciated it. Someone who didn’t roll their eyes about what a geek Bucky was. Someone who got the jokes, who understood the references. It was like having a secret, second language, and finding someone else who spoke it.

They polished off a pizza and a half between them, which meant cold pizza for breakfast, win-win. The movie ended and the world didn’t explode. Tony had leaned the other way to grab the last bit of the sausage pizza and ended up half laying on Bucky’s knees. The suit jacket and tie were shed, and Tony had his sleeves cuffed up. Bucky didn’t know what it was about that particular look, but he could gaze longingly at Tony’s exposed forearms for the rest of his life and not get bored.

He didn’t even realize he was petting Tony’s curls, mindless of the pizza grease still on his fingers, until Tony let out a soft snore and scrunched a little closer.

Bucky considered waking him up, then-- hell with it, let the guy sleep. He’d had a rough day. Bucky turned down the sound and used the remote to navigate to a streaming service, started up a Netflix rewatch of _Once Upon a Time_ , and settled against the back of the sofa.

Just a few episodes. He’d… just--

***

The sound of the door opening came from a long way off. Tony was comfortable and warm and curled up with someone, and he didn’t really want to wake up. He couldn’t quite remember _why_ he didn’t want to wake up. There had been something... bad?

Tony didn’t feel bad now. He felt pretty good, really, and so did whoever he was sleeping on top of, if the erection pressed against his thigh was any indication.

Tony hummed a little and wriggled, and the arms wrapped around his back shifted, squeezing a little, and that was so, so nice.

There was some reason he was supposed to be waking up, wasn’t there? Something about a door, and--

“Bucky, what the _hell?_ ”

“Stop screechin’, z’too early,” Bucky mumbled, and the mumble came from directly next to Tony’s ear. “You c’n have a piece a’ pizza if you wanna.” There was a long, pregnant pause, and then-- “Oh, Christ. _Tony_.”

Tony’s eyes flew open and he tried to roll over and sit up at the same time and wound up flailing awkwardly and falling onto the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. “Fuck!”

Tony looked up, and more up. For a short, dainty redhead, it was shocking how much Nat -- that was her name, right? -- resembled a tyrannosaurus rex. With, apparently, a knife.

Bucky, likewise, scrambled up. “Nat-- crap what are you-- it’s not what it looks like.”

Nat lifted one eyebrow. “And what do you think it _does_ look like, Barnes?”

Tony thought about standing up, but there was no way to make that graceful, and he didn’t want to flop around any more with Nat standing over them like that. “I had a shit day and I came over to watch movies and eat pizza,” he said, very reasonably. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep, but that’s all it was.” Not for lack of wishing.

Nat’s other eyebrow joined its mate. “Did I ask you? I didn’t ask you. Who are you, even? Barnes--”

“How are you even in my house?” Bucky wondered. “Look, nothin’ happened, I mean. I wouldn’t do that--”

“I’m in your house because your fiancé -- remember him? short, skinny, super blond, and nothing at all like this guy? -- was worried because your phone’s apparently off, and asked me to come by and check on you.”

“And you just _walk_ in--” Bucky scowled, rubbing at his eyes.

“I have a key!” Nat protested. “And here you are, having a casual hookup while your--”

“I am not having a casual hookup with _Tony_ ,” Bucky protested. “I would never-- not with _Tony_ \--”

Tony managed not to actually wince. Because Bucky _had_ totally done that, but of course that had been before he’d gotten engaged to Steve, and now, Jesus, Steve’s friend thought Bucky was _cheating_.

“It’s not a hookup,” Tony said firmly. His _feelings_ were entirely beside the point; Tony was _not_ that guy, and neither was Bucky. “If you think Bucky would do that to Steve, you don’t know him very well.”

“Half your clothes are off--” Nat spluttered.

Bucky finished sitting all the way up. “And I’ve seen you pull your bra off through your sleeve, Nat, big fuckin’ deal. No one wants to wear a tie and eat pizza.”

Nat narrowed her eyes. “So, you won’t have a problem if I mention this to Steve?”

It was probably Tony’s imagination that Bucky went a little pale, and then a little red. “Go ahead,” he challenged. “ _Nothing_ happened. Stop makin’ drama for the sake of havin’ it.”

“The pants,” Tony pointed out, “are still on.” He sat up and scrubbed his hand over his hair, then shot Bucky a somewhat rueful look. “I’ll go, if this is going to be a whole big thing. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble with the spymaster, here.”

“I’m not in trouble,” Bucky said, firmly.

“He called you like fifteen times,” Nat said. “You’re in trouble.”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, Tony, sorry, look, just… I’ll charge my phone an’ call Steve, it’ll be fine. I’ll deal with Steve, Steve can deal with Miss Crazypants. I’ll call you later or something. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

Nat gave Tony a gimlet stare that clearly said he was not _fine_ and he was not going to be _fine_ and she was not going to be _fine_ with it. “Goodbye, Tony,” she said. “Watch your back.”

Tony knew when he wasn’t wanted. Usually, anyway. He clambered up off the floor and retrieved his jacket and tie. He rolled the tie up and stuffed it in his pocket, but wearing the jacket was going to be easier than carrying it, so he pulled it on.

Something stiff brushed against his chest, and he nearly felt ill again as he remembered everything that had happened yesterday, before he’d come over to Bucky’s. He reached into the breast pocket and pulled out the envelope with its stiff cardstock contents. “Here,” he said, tossing it on the table. “You guys will probably enjoy it.” He gave Nat a thin smile, the sort that he usually reserved for particularly obstinate board members, tossed Bucky a little salute, and sauntered out.

He was barely out the door when he heard Bucky’s voice going up in a spiral, “Natalie, what even--”

Tony didn’t bother to stick around and hear the rest of the argument. He could imagine quite well, when he put his mind to it, and sometimes even when he’d rather not.

But it was looking like being friends with Bucky was not going to be a thing that he could do, after all.

 


	8. I4 - Wishes

Bucky put his present on the table, along with other, more professionally wrapped ones, and wondered if it was _ever_ going to get any easier.

He hadn’t quite spent the next few days after the movie incident mourning The One That Got Away the way he had in the beginning, but every time he saw Tony at a social function -- and these days, he was seeing Tony at a _lot_ of social functions -- there was that wistful little ache, and it always took him swallowing a few times to force the lump in his throat down enough to say anything at all.

But, after a few miserable weeks of not seeing Tony at all, Bucky found himself at one of Sam’s movie nights, and Jim was there, and then… Tony had showed up.

Natasha had watched him like a hawk that whole night, but apparently she eventually came to the conclusion that he and Tony were _nothing_ but friends, and that she’d been -- shockingly -- wrong.

And gradually, Tony had been included in their gatherings; the second circle, the friends of friends. Before Bucky was really certain how it happened, most of a year had gone by.

But it never got any easier.

Bucky stared at the gifts, looking at the bows and tags. It was Tony’s birthday, and Jim had organized a surprise party. Not a fancy shindig like Tony was used to, but friends and drinking and dumb ass party games.

He said hi to Jim, grabbed one of the confetti guns off the table -- he was so glad he didn’t have to clean up the next day -- and lurked to wait for Tony to arrive.

Tony was on the phone when he came through the door. It was wedged between his face and shoulder, and he was carrying a briefcase and a garment bag in his hands, trying to juggle them and the phone as he opened the door. “—just saying, if I’m going to have to go down there on short notice, then I need you to call ahead and set up the—“

“ **Surprise**!” about two dozen people yelled. The lights snapped on and the room was suddenly full of confetti and streamers. Bucky hoped to Christ that Tony had gotten a cardio exam recently and they weren’t about to give the poor guy a heart attack.

He jumped back about three feet, dropping the briefcase and the bag and fumbling to catch the phone. “Fuck!” He put the phone back to his ear. “I don’t actually have to go anywhere, do I? You are the _worst_ , Potts, I don’t like you anymore. Yeah, yeah, yeah, get over here and drink with us.” He hung up the phone and leveled an accusatory finger at Jim, who was laughing hysterically.

“Ha! This is a great shot,” Jim said, holding up his phone. “Don’t forget, text or post your pictures to hashtag Tony Stark is _Old_!”

“Happy birthday,” Sam added, over Jim’s shoulder, his hand draped around his boyfriend’s chest.

“You’re all the worst,” Tony proclaimed, but he was stepping in closer to give Jim a hug, and then Sam, and then some scientist guy Bucky hadn’t met before, and suddenly everyone was hugging him.

Bucky didn’t linger too long over his hug, just long enough to tuck his nose into the crook of Tony’s neck and breathe in the amber scent of his cologne. “Happy birthday to someone who’s older than me.”

That was a sobering thought, really. Not so much _Bucky’s_ birthday, which was a few months past now, but Steve’s, which was coming up in a little less than six weeks.

And so was the wedding.

They hadn’t planned for much, really. A judge and a dinner out.

Which meant Bucky had been mostly free to ignore that it was happening. But somehow, standing there with Tony, celebrating his birthday, and suddenly Bucky wasn’t feeling at all celebratory.

He kept his smile up, though, until the next person came to claim a hug, and then made a beeline for the booze.

Tony didn’t spend a lot of time at the booze table, but someone was toasting or pressing a fresh cup into his hand nearly every time Bucky looked. Not long after Tony’s assistant, Ms. Potts, showed up, she herded him toward the pile of presents.

Most of them were gag gifts — what else did you get a man with more money than god? — but some were surprisingly sweet. Jim’s gift was a framed photo of the two of them, much younger, draped over a medium-sized robot. One of Tony’s scientist friends gave him a copy of a doctoral thesis that cited Tony as a mentor in the forward.

And then there was Bucky’s gift; a simple projector lamp that connected to a wifi signal, giving time and longitude and latitude, and then spread the map of the current stars onto the ceiling. You could set it for anywhere, any time. Look at the constellations as they might have been the night Rome burned, if you wanted to. _Math is the universal constant_ , Bucky had written inside the card. It wasn’t much-- honestly, Tony could probably buy time on the Very Large Array if he wanted, or any telescope in the world.

_It’s supposed to be the thought that counts, right?_

Certainly, Tony seemed to think so. He looked utterly delighted and insisted on setting it up immediately, right there in the living room. “Turn off the lights!” he insisted. “We’re doing some stargazing!”

Various people called out dates, locations; someone got the bright idea of going through everyone’s birthday, to see the stars when their friends were born.

The night sky inside the penthouse was actually quite lovely, and Tony (and sometimes Wanda) took turns pointing out astrological events of interest.

“Well, I made the call to the fire department,” Jim said finally, wheeling in a cart that held a ridiculously large cake that had at least three times more candles on it than Tony’s actual age. Also, it was black. And there were frosting tombstones decorating the bottom layer. “Just in case the place goes up in smoke.”

“You are _such_ an ass,” Tony complained. “There had better be chocolate in there.”

“What did you do, light that thing with a blowtorch?” Clint wondered, leaning over to poke his finger at one of the tombstones.

Jim only snorted. “Hey, I bet anyone who’s willing to get in on the action, that Tony here is so full of hot air, he can actually blow all these damn candles out.”

There was a scurry of activity while some people did, indeed, take him up on it.

“Make me proud, birthday boy,” Jim said. “Make a wish.”

Tony snorted, but he closed his eyes for a moment anyway, lips moving very slightly as he subvocalized his wish, then took a couple of deep practice breaths as he eyed the placement of the candles. “Right, let’s do this.” He walked around the cart twice, eyes narrow, then picked his position. “Cameras up,” he warned. “I’m only doing this once.”

Then he took a big breath, and drew it in even deeper, and _blew_.

***

It wasn’t like Tony expected his wish to actually come true if he managed to blow out all the damn candles. His wish wasn’t coming true, no matter what. But it was his birthday, and if he wanted to take just a minute to wish for impossible things, quietly, where they couldn’t hurt anyone but him, then he could do that.

They were friends, which was more than Tony probably deserved. Not close friends — Nat had only just stopped watching them suspiciously whenever they were together — but Bucky was _here_ , and he’d brought Tony a perfectly geeky gift, exactly the right kind of thing, and Tony was happy with that. He _was_. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t wish for a little more.

He was as surprised as anyone else when he actually managed to blow out all the candles on the first try. He grinned and clapped Rhodey on the back. “Chocolate,” he repeated, wheezing a little from the way his lungs ached. “The good stuff.”

“Double dark fudge, just like you like it,” Rhodey promised. “What, you think I’d make you eat strawberry cake more than once a year?” Strawberry was Rhodey’s favorite, and honestly, Tony thought that was some sort of moral flaw. Actual strawberries, sure, but freaking pink cake that smelled like Rhodey’s sister’s dolls-- gross.

Tony grinned and collected a slice of cake and then stepped back to let everyone else at it. He savored his piece, then washed it down with some really excellent vodka that someone — he suspected Nat — had brought.

By the time the party began to thin out some, Tony was glad he wouldn’t have to be navigating himself home, because the world was wheeling around him a bit, tipping and sliding. He made his way out onto the balcony for some air and leaned against the railing, watching the lights below.

“Oh, hey Tony,” a soft voice said. Bucky flicked a bit of ash off his cigarette. “I c’n put it out, if you want?”

“Nah, s’fine.” Tony felt himself swaying toward Bucky, a little, like being gently pulled into Bucky’s orbit.

“Havin’ a good birthday?” Bucky asked. He took another long drag off his cigarette and blew a billow of hazy smoke into the air. “Sorry ‘bout this. Bad habit; I only smoke these days when I’m drunker’n hell.”

There was a witty quip in there somewhere, something about getting drunk while being smoking, or... something. He couldn’t quite put it together before the moment had passed, though, so he just chuckled. “Best birthday in a long time,” he said honestly. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, sure-- I mean, anything for you,” Bucky said. He stubbed his smoke and left it to cool on the concrete, muttering something to himself about not forgetting it. He looked as if he might go back inside, then, “So, it’s after midnight, what’d you wish for?”

It was probably a bad idea to tell Bucky what he’d wished for, but for the life of him, Tony couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t like a bad idea had ever stopped Tony, anyway. He looked down at the lights, twinkling in the dark, and then up at the stars, only a few of the brightest visible through the light pollution of the city. “You.”

“Me, what?” Bucky asked, sounding… odd. His voice stuck in his throat and Tony had to imagine most of what he said next, shaping it from the way Bucky’s lips moved. “You mean-- _me_?”

“You asked,” Tony reminded him. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t actually try to split you guys up or anything, I just... sometimes I wonder, you know? What could’ve been, if my timing had been better.”

Bucky didn’t move, he didn’t step back out of Tony’s personal space. “Yeah, I get that,” Bucky said. He didn’t really look at Tony, not up to meet his gaze, but stared at Tony’s hands, his chest, then peered at Tony through lowered lashes. It really wasn’t fair how gorgeous the man was. If life was kind, or fair, Bucky would have had a gap in his perfect smile, or a big mole on his cheek. Something.

Not, Tony thought, that it would have made a damn bit of difference.

Bucky was still going to be the most beautiful man Tony had ever seen.

“It would have been _amazing_ ,” Bucky said. “Stupid, right? I keep thinkin’...” He closed his mouth on that thought. “Just the booze, right? Booze and birthdays and stupid memories?”

“Not a single memory I have of you is stupid,” Tony said. He took a slow breath, feeling the cool night air in his lungs. “I’m working on getting over it. It’s slow going, because you’re so damned...” He gestured, wordless. “I’ll get there,” he promised. “I _like_ you too much to fuck it up, wishing for something that can’t be.”

“I am an _idiot_ ,” Bucky said, with sudden heat. “I should never have tried to be your friend, Tony. That was a mistake. But… just-- I need to talk to Steve, like right now. Don’t… leave.”

...Wow. Tony watched Bucky scramble back into the penthouse, then turned back around and dropped his head down into his hands. Oh yeah, that. _That_ was why he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Now Bucky was pissed at him. Was going to gather his fiancé and run, as far and as fast as he could, to get away from Tony and his inappropriate feelings.

Damn it. He’d been having such a nice birthday, too.

***

“Whadda ya mean, he _left_?” Bucky demanded of Sam, who he’d had to shake awake. Bucky checked the time; it was barely past one in the morning, and Steve didn’t usually just-- leave. They’d taken a cab together, and they’d planned to take one back. Bucky didn’t want to ride the subway drunk, not even with a partner.

Sam grumbled and scrubbed at his face. “Took Nat home,” he said. “Told her ice cream an’ vodka didn’t go together. She upchucked. Priceless.”

Bucky scowled harder. Nat didn’t usually throw up and-- He yanked his phone out, and sure enough, there were a few texts from Steve, explaining that he was going to make sure Nat got home safe, that he’d probably stay at her place and make sure she kept breathing.

_Don’t wait up,_ the last one read.

Crap. Of all the times for Steve to be MIA.

_Are you awake? I need to talk to you right now._

No answer. And no answer. Bucky called, but it went straight to voicemail, because most normal people had their phones on DND by 2 in the damn morning.

Right, right. Steve was at Nat’s. Bucky could do that. He could-- take a cab over to Nat’s, talk to Steve, come back here--

No, no, he could not. It was going to have to wait for morning. He would go home, sleep it off, deal with Steve, and talk to Tony tomorrow.

He looked back at the balcony, at the tight set of Tony’s shoulders, the way he looked like someone had thrown his damn birthday cake over the side.

No, no, it couldn’t _wait_ , dammit. He’d had enough of bad timing--

“How long ago did they leave?”

Sam was already back asleep, and Bucky threw up his hands. Fine. He could walk if he fucking had to. He wasn’t that drunk. He checked his texts again. They had only been sent like fifteen minutes ago. Maybe-- just maybe.

He hit the door, practically running. He might have considered running down the stairs, but it was the penthouse, and he had been drinking more than he should. “Come on, come on--”

Maybe, maybe he could catch them.

_Just… just wait for me, Tony. Two hours, max. I promise._

For all that, he almost tripped over Steve on his way out of the lobby doors. Nat was sitting, legs sprawled, on the sidewalk, very determinedly trying to get a dime to stand on its edge. “I c’n do it,” she told Steve earnestly.

“Yeah, Nat, I know,” Steve said, humoring her. He glanced up and grinned. “Hey, look who joined the afterparty!”

“Can--” Bucky slammed to a halt. He _really_ didn’t want to do this in front of Nat. “Can I borrow you for like… five minutes?”

Steve looked doubtfully at Nat. “She already tried to walk into the traffic once,” he said.

Nat looked up with narrowed eyes. “I can take ‘em,” she said.

Steve patted her arm. “I know you can, but we talked about this, right? No fighting cars.”

“Right, fine, you know what, I don’t even care. The top ten things in my life I care about, Natasha Romanoff’s opinion of me doesn’t even make the _list_.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. So did Nat’s. “This oughta be good,” Steve said. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky started, because that was always a good place to start when he was about to do something monumentally shitty. “I was so busy bein’ scared that I wasn’t gonna, I don’t know, have a life… that I kinda forgot about actually _living_ it. I had a list, I had it all planned out. Go to college, get a job, have some savings, meet someone I loved, get married, grow old. It’s not that different from most people’s plans, I guess. But I got it all twisted up in my head that it was on some damn _schedule_.”

Steve frowned at him. “Okay...”

“And I don’t know, you an’ me, we’ve been best friends and roommates _forever_ , and it looked like it was just going to be more forever,” Bucky said, scraping his hand through his hair. “Steve… Steve, he _loves_ me.” He hitched in a deep breath. Tony hadn’t actually said that, had he? But it was pretty damn clear. Maybe it was more wishes, but right now, Bucky was going to gamble it all. He’d rather take the chance than hold onto a sure thing that didn’t make his heart race, and never would. “He loves me, and I still--”

Steve scraped his hand over his face. “Barnes, if you call off our platonic marriage _again_ , then this is _it_ , you got that, pal? This thing goes sideways, I am _not_ picking your ass up out of the gutter and dusting you off.”

Nat blinked up at them owlishly. “Huh.” The dime spun neatly to a stop on edge. “Ooh, look, I did it. _Told_ you I could.”

Bucky drew himself up. “It won’t go sideways, pal,” he told Steve. “I mean, even if it does-- I think I got so caught up on gettin’ married, I forgot why people-- I love him, Steve. And I want to make it work with him, if he’ll forgive me for it. But even if he don’t--” Bucky about choked on that thought. “--you deserve better than to be a second choice. For anyone. Especially me.”

“Hey, that’s my best friend you’re badmouthing there, pal,” Steve said. He waved one arm. “Fine. Gimme back my damn ring, then.”

Bucky had a half-second’s worth of panic that his fingers were swollen from too much drinking, but the ring came off on a second tug. “Thank you. Sorry. I don’t even know what I should say here.”

“Jesus, get out of here,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t you dare wake me up before 2 in the afternoon, either. And you’re buying the first round, next time we go out.” He paused, considering. “And _you_ have to explain it to everyone.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s… right.” Bucky eyed the door and then gestured at the doorman, who rather reluctantly opened it again. Crazy drunk people on the front stoop and all, Bucky wouldn’t have been shocked if he’d been turned away, but--

Well, maybe his luck was about to change.


	9. B4 - Biting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut-avoidant readers, beware! If you want to skip it, beg off right around “You should come in" (right around the halfway point).

Tony’s apartment was dead silent by the time Bucky made it back upstairs. Sam and Jim were probably still asleep on the sofa, and as far as Bucky knew, everyone else had gone home.

He rapped on the door, light, not wanting to wake anyone else up.

He didn’t want to speculate on what would happen if Tony had gone to bed. He would wait. All night, if he had to. He hoped he didn’t have to. He paused, rapped again, a quick three knocks against the door. Was Tony’s door soundproofed? He hovered his finger near the bell, but then footsteps approached the door.

The door clicked and Tony was already talking as it swung open. “What, did you forget some--”

“Can we talk?”

Tony stared at him, wide-eyed. “You... came back? I, uh. Talk. Right.” He took what looked like a bracing breath, not quite meeting Bucky’s eyes, and edged out into the hall, closing the door behind him. “Okay, let’s have it.”

Bucky chewed on his lip for a moment, practically petrified by the enormity of what he was going to say. “You ever-- uh, find yourself in the middle of doing something _colossally_ stupid, not quite sure how you got there, and just going with it, because trying to get out now is just -- you think -- gonna make shit worse?”

Tony snorted. “That pretty much defines the entirety of my twenties.”

“What can I say, I’m a slow learner,” Bucky said. “Look, I’m just gonna say this, because if I don’t just blurt it out, everything’s gonna be a fuckin’ disaster. Two minute elevator pitch, and then I’ll explain anything you want me to explain, okay?”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again, frowning. “This is a lot more complicated than it needs to be, if you’re just going to tell me to fuck off. I mean, I fucked up, I get it--”

“Why would-- no, you didn’t,” Bucky protested. “This is _so much_ all on me, I can’t even--” He took a deep breath. “I have been such a dick to you, I wouldn’t blame you if you told me to jump off a bridge, but. I think I might be in love with you. Pretty sure, actually. Broke things off with Steve. _Again_. Long story, he’s taking Nat home. She’s very drunk. And-- if it’s not too late, I thought we might give that birthday wish of yours a try.”

He was panting for breath by the time he was done, practically holding himself up against the wall, using it for support, his throat aching, chest tight, full of hope and terror and longing and self-loathing all at once.

Tony tipped his head, squinting at Bucky. “I’m... what? How drunk _are_ you?”

“Ain’t alcohol talkin’ here, Tony,” Bucky said. “It’s just me. I stopped drinkin’ like almost an hour ago, now.” 

“Then... I’m going to need you to back up a little bit,” Tony said. “What _happened?_ ”

“Nothing happened,” Bucky said. “Or everything. I don’t know. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably wrong. Because what I’ve been doing this last year or more… is _not thinking_. I don’t-- look, it wasn’t some dramatic breakup. Well, not yet. It probably will be sort of drama-adjacent, when everything gets out. It’s about me, finally figuring out what I really want. Not what I think I have to be, or do, or have. But about what I _want_.”

“Which,” Tony said slowly, “is... me? But then why--” He waved a hand in the general direction of the rest of the world.

“I don’t love Steve,” Bucky said. “I never have. Not… not like that. I mean, he’s my best friend, we’ve known each other our whole lives, but-- and he knows that. He has always known that. He’s not hurt. Might be a little pissed with me for being such a wishy washy dick about the whole thing, but, I ain’t breakin’ his heart.”

“He proposed to you,” Tony pointed out. “I was there. I saw the whole thing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said, and he leaned against the wall and slid down until his ass was on the floor and his knees were bent up so he could hold on to try to keep himself from flying apart. “I’ve… uh, seriously. I’ve been running at about 90 mistakes per hour all year. We… we already lived together. Neither of us had anything remotely like a decent romance. Pretty much ever. I’m not even sure if Steve’s ever actually _had_ sex. I was getting old. I felt old. Like every chance I’d ever had was gone, poof, and if I was going to make some sort of life for myself, I had to move on with it. Forget love and romance, and just… settle for some stability.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty dumb,” Tony said, but his mouth quirked up a little. He slid down the wall to sit next to Bucky, not quite touching, but close. “You’re, what, thirty-one now? _Plenty_ of time for you to find more than just stability, if that’s what you want. You’re not exactly doddering, here.”

“Yeah, thirty-one flavors of messed up, I swear. And I’m sorry. I didn’t… we’d, you know, joked around about it. If we were both still single when we turned thirty. I didn’t… I didn’t think he’d actually _do it_. And God, you coulda knocked me over with a damn feather, in front of everyone like that? All our friends were so happy for us. It was like, I-- if I couldn’t be blissfully happy myself, maybe I could make other people happy.” Bucky snorted. “That’s… I don’t know, I’m blowing it up out of proportion or something. Truth is, I was scared. And honestly, I didn’t-- you were one night, it was _one night_. And I thought I might, I dunno, grow into it, with Steve, or something. But we’ve never so much as _kissed_ , and I don’t want to.”

Tony leaned away to look at Bucky incredulously. “You’ve been engaged to the man for a _year_ , and you never even... Not even once, to try it on? I wouldn’t blame either of you; you’re hot as hell and he’s damned cute.”

“The only thing that changed was I started wearing a ring,” Bucky said. “And not even that most of the time. Rings aren’t safe when you’re working in machinery. I broke it off with him once before, you know.” Tony didn’t know. No one knew, they hadn’t told anyone. 

Tony shook his head. “When was that?”

“After the ski trip,” Bucky said. “He said something like go get ‘im, and-- well, you were dating Ty, so, bad timing, I guess.”

“All the way back-- Son of a bitch. I’d have thrown Ty over for you without a second of hesitation, if I’d known.” His mouth twisted wryly. “You weren’t the only one settling, I guess.”

“It didn’t seem right of me, you know,” Bucky said. “We were friends… I don’t have so many of them that I’mma throw anyone away. And if it was just me, bein’ all wistful, then why fuck with it?” He turned his head, leaning his cheek on one knee. “But it wasn’t just me. Was it?”

_Please, god, don’t let me have fucked this up that bad_. Bucky wasn’t much of a religious guy, and he knew God didn’t answer prayers. But he might have been willing to slice open a goat to Thor or something, just for a little Divine Intervention.

Tony huffed out a sigh. “No, it wasn’t. I did just wish...” He paused, his eyes widening. “You _didn’t_ run off because I’d spooked you with my wish,” he said. “You went to break things off.”

“I did break things off,” Bucky said. “I’m probably going to get a busted eardrum out of it as soon as Nat sobers up enough to realize what I said in front of her, but yeah. I didn’t-- I didn’t want to waste any more time, Tony. I’ve been such a fool.”

“Both of us, maybe,” Tony said. He reached up, traced his fingertips down Bucky’s cheek, along Bucky’s jaw. “Maybe we should stop wasting time, then.”

“Sittin’ with you is never time wasted,” Bucky said. On the other hand, going through his own rampant idiocy with a fine tooth comb was not exactly _fun_. He could think of other things to be doing with that time. “I can’t ever-- make up for what I almost threw out, but if you’ll let me, maybe we can make it better. Together.”

Tony made a soft noise in the back of his throat, and before Bucky could try to interpret it, he’d leaned in and caught Bucky’s mouth in a kiss, cautious and gentle and then, when Bucky responded, with more enthusiasm.

“Oh god,” Bucky said, breathing in Tony’s scent, feeling the heat of Tony’s skin. His hand speared into the short hair at the back of Tony’s neck, dragging him closer. He’d been dreaming about this for so long, wishing for it, wanting it, needing it and knowing it was never going to fucking happen again, that he almost didn’t believe it was happening. Kept moving back in to touch his lips to Tony’s, as if to reassure himself that it was real.

Tony wriggled around, climbing onto Bucky’s lap and straddling his hips. One hand curled around the back of Bucky’s neck; the other fisted in Bucky’s shirt as if to make sure he would stay put.

Tony finally pulled away, eyes wide and dark, lips red and wet, breath coming in gasps. “You should come in,” he panted.

Bucky leaned in again and flicked the tip of his tongue over those red lips. “Banging you in th’ hallway does have its charms, but, yeah--”

“I am too old to roll around on the floor,” Tony said, amused. He rolled to his feet and tugged Bucky up with him. “Especially since I have a very comfortable bed less than a hundred feet away.”

“It’s your birthday,” Bucky said, as if he was conceding a point. “Your call. I reserve the right to convince you later that you’re not too old for _anything_.”

Tony snorted, then held up his hand in warning and cracked open the door. He peered through, and nodded. “They’re still asleep,” he whispered. “Come on.”

Bucky took Tony’s hand and followed him through the somewhat party-wrecked penthouse to Tony’s room, which was bigger than Bucky and Steve’s entire apartment. And probably at least one additional unit. 

Tony didn’t give him a lot of time to explore, though. As soon as the door closed behind them, Tony was pushing him up against it, mouthing hungrily at Bucky’s throat, rocking their bodies together.

Bucky’s head smacked against the door, and he ignored it, too busy with enjoying the feel of Tony’s hands on him, the burning kisses, the eager, steady push of Tony’s hips against his. He suddenly understood all of the women in his sister’s bodice rippers, who swooned when taken in a “manly fashion” because Bucky felt a little light headed himself. Wanting to surrender, needing to be totally ravaged. He found Tony’s mouth again, pulled him in until there was nothing between them but the urgent swirl of heat.

Somehow, he found himself balanced on one leg, knee hooked over Tony’s hip. Tony’s hands were in his hair, on his thigh, and then caught his hand and pushed him even harder against the door, pinning him in place and it was delicious, crazy, wonderful all at the same time.

“God, you’re so--” Tony groaned and nipped at Bucky’s throat, sharp little stings that he soothed with his tongue. His hand was working up under Bucky’s shirt, sliding upward, and his breath was hot on Bucky’s skin, and he never stopped moving, as if touching as much of Bucky’s body as possible was utterly necessary.

Bucky reached up and over, grabbed the back of his tee and yanked it over his head, hands unsteady on his belt and zipper, but getting the job done. Shucking his shoes, and then driving Tony toward that huge bed, backing him up, step by step, until they fell onto it.

Nestling himself into the welcome vee of Tony’s thighs, he rubbed them together, rocking his hips with delicious friction. Too much, really, and his dick was complaining about the heavy layers of denim and suit fabric. “Lift up, honey, I got you,” Bucky said, working Tony’s pants open, kissing that sliver of bared skin under the shirt, over the slacks.

Tony planted his feet and lifted his hips so Bucky could slide the pants off, shoving at his underwear, too, impatient and heated. His eyes were on Bucky the whole time, fiercely desperate and wanting, _needy_ in a way that took Bucky’s breath away.

He couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else, wanting anyone more. Tony’s lithe body under his was all Bucky ever needed. 

And then Tony bit him, enough to send shivers of silvery pain down his nerves, enough to make him gasp, startle, and then push into it, the way Tony was sucking the skin, drawing blood to the surface, and then licking at it, soothing.

Marking him, claiming him.

“Christ, you--” Bucky hissed. He rolled them over, tangled legs and sprawling limbs, so he could look up at Tony, then leaned his head back, giving Tony all the access he wanted. Bucky didn’t even care if he ended up looking like a vampire attack victim, he _needed_ that heat, wanted those marks.

Tony bit and sucked a ring of marks around Bucky’s throat, low enough for a shirt to hide them, as long as it wasn’t a wide scoop or a V-neck. It seemed as if each one made Bucky’s entire body hotter, more sensitive, until electricity crackled under his skin, until he thought a single touch might make him explode.

Tony pushed up and back, then, sitting up to examine his handiwork. He traced the line of purple bruises with one finger, looking as satisfied as a cat in the cream.

He slid his hands up Tony’s thighs, feeling the crisp hair, the warm skin, until he got his thumbs against Tony’s hips, using his fingers to encourage Tony to roll and rut against him. “You are so damn beautiful, I don’t know how I thought I could ever stand not seeing this again.”

“I’m pretty sure it was going to drive me crazy,” Tony said. He slipped out from under Bucky’s hands, sliding down Bucky’s body, warm mouth leaving a trail of kisses and nips and licks. He tucked his fingers into the waistband of Bucky’s jeans and worked them off until they were halfway down, trapping Bucky’s thighs together. He just looked for a moment, then leaned down to lick a stripe up Bucky’s cock from root to tip, firm and wet and scorching hot.

“Oh, god,” Bucky said, throat going rough and breath coming uneven. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch, needing to see as much of Tony’s face as he could, wanting those doe eyes on him, even more than that sinful mouth. “I died. Died and went to heaven, and-- oh, god, do it again. Please…”

Tony’s mouth curved in a wicked smirk and then he did, slower, tongue curling at the end to flick against the sensitive spot at the head, his eyes on Bucky’s the whole time. And then his hand curled around Bucky’s cock, holding it steady as Tony sucked it in, hollowing his cheeks and dancing that clever tongue all along Bucky’s length.

Had it really been more than a year since Bucky’d touched anyone, since he’d let himself feel, lost himself in desire? It really had, and Bucky found himself wondering why the hell he’d thought that was a good plan, why-- nevermind. He had Tony now, and damned if he wasn’t going to make the most of it. 

His hands flitted to the top of Tony’s head. “Can I? Is it okay if I pull your hair, or you want me t’ keep my hands to myself?” He might have to put his hands under his back if Tony wasn’t into hair pulling, to keep from grabbing anything he wasn’t supposed to.

But Tony reached up with one hand and pressed Bucky’s hand against his scalp, patting assent without ever letting up that perfect assault on Bucky’s cock, groaning with pleasure that shivered right into Bucky’s body.

Tony’s hair was so _soft_ , a little tacky with product, but it felt silky and fluffy against his fingers. He couldn’t help tugging, turning Tony’s head to the perfect angle, and then scritching against Tony’s scalp, massaging the back of Tony’s neck. Relishing each little appreciative moan that Tony made, shivering upward into the wet heat of Tony’s mouth.

It seemed like forever and also not nearly long enough before Tony pulled off, nuzzling at the angle of Bucky’s hip, that little smirk back on his lips. “You want to come like this, or should I grab some lube?”

Bucky thumbed the line of Tony’s mouth, that plush lower lip. “I want-- more. This is great, I ain’t got a complaint, but-- more. Wanna be _closer_. Need you, you got a condom?” 

“Closer,” Tony said. “Closer sounds perfect.” He crawled up and over Bucky and it wasn’t graceful or elegant but it was eager and joyful and that was more than enough. He grabbed for a drawer, fished around inside for a moment and tossed a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms onto the bed between them. He turned back to Bucky with a grin. “Top or bottom, snowflake? I’ll go either way.”

“Been checkin’ out your ass since we met,” Bucky suggested, licking his lip speculatively. “Can it possibly feel as good as it looks? Inquiring minds want to know.”

Tony laughed and rolled onto his stomach, looking back at Bucky over his shoulder with a sultry stare. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of science.”

Bucky helped himself to a handful, squeezing and kneading. “Gluteus maximus, largest muscle in the body,” he said. It always sounded silly, giving someone an ass massage, right up until someone did it for you -- the way it relaxed the whole body, made the hips work, the spine ease, tension draining out. Bucky varied his touch between deep strokes and light traces over the skin, until Tony was groaning almost continuously, rutting against the comforter, each twist of his hips tempting and sensual.

Tony canted his hips, begging, demanding, for more. “Christ, that feels good, but-- _nnng_ , Bucky, I need you _in_ me, now.”

“Bossy,” Bucky accused, leaning down to ghost kisses down Tony’s spine to the small of his back. As he knelt back up, he pulled Tony with him, until Tony was on his knees, face still pressed against the blanket. Condom first, then lube. Things always got slippery and messy when he tried it the other way.

He stroked himself a few times, getting harder, enough to keep the damn thing on. “There you go, look at you, so pretty,” Bucky crooned, stroking over Tony’s ass again, running his thumb along his crack, spreading Tony. Little lube, and then a little more, working it down and around Tony’s hole.

Tony shivered and shuddered, pushing back into Bucky’s touch and then rocking forward, restlessly seeking friction and movement. “God, that feels so, so good,” he panted. “Can’t wait to feel you inside me, bet you feel _amazing_. That’s it, that-- Right there, _right_ , shit, ohgod, yes...” He kept babbling, nonsense and encouragement and praise, as if Bucky were the best lover he’d ever had.

Bucky added more lube, then double-checked to make sure it was the kind that didn’t mess with condoms. Right, great. Perfect. He held himself with one hand, the other planted in the middle of Tony’s spine, holding him down, keeping Tony still while he got lined up. “ _God_ , Tony,” Bucky said, teeth clenched as he pushed in, just a little, just enough. 

Tony was a hot, tight, slippery clench, brilliant and perfect and the way he shuddered around Bucky was pure bliss. 

An inch, maybe two, and then waited, just rolling his hips a little, sliding in and out of the entrance, teasing at the nerves there around Tony’s rim. “So good, honey, you good?”

“Good,” Tony agreed. “Fantastic, splendiferous, great, wonderful, and other words.” Tony rolled his spine, trying to push back, to draw Bucky in deeper. “Bucky, _god_.”

“I’ll getcha there, baby, don’t you rush it,” Bucky said, more for himself than Tony. If he didn’t care about Tony’s pleasure, he’d drill in, fuck Tony through the mattress, take and _take_ and sate himself on Tony’s body. 

He got a hold on Tony’s hips, fingers gripping that tender skin, trying to match Tony’s involuntary rhythm, watching himself sink into Tony’s body, feeling the clench of Tony’s muscles first trying to push him back out, and then relaxing, welcoming. His own hips rocked, pushing himself into Tony, then drawing back.

Listened to the noises Tony was making, the slick, sensual sounds between them, the way their thighs slapped together like slow applause. Once they were moving easily together, in sync, Bucky slid one arm under Tony’s chest. “Come on back with me, baby, I gotcha--” until they were both on their knees, Tony pressed tight to him. The angle changed, Tony’s inner muscles clenched. It was a tighter fit, shallower penetration, but it let him play up and down Tony’s body as he thrust.

Tony reached back, tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair, pulling and tugging with each thrust. He twisted his neck around to catch Bucky’s mouth in a sloppy kiss, his body tightening around Bucky with the movement. “Bucky,” he gasped, “god, I can’t believe... Tell me, honey. Tell me you’re real.”

“I got you, baby,” Bucky told him, nipping the shell of Tony’s ear. “I’m here, I’m here for you. I’m right here, with you.” Together. Bucky didn’t have any words for the way his chest seemed to tighten and expand at the same time, white hot and yet comforting heat spread through him. Like dying and being reborn. He got a hand on Tony’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. “We’re right here.”

He was going to, he couldn’t hold it any more, and there was a desperate chant in the back of his head, _him first, please, him first_. But he didn’t know if he could hold on, he’d been celibate, he’d been waiting, so goddamn long. “Come on, baby, I got you.”

Tony shuddered and his grip on Bucky’s hair got tighter. “I’m-- Oh god, Bucky, oh god, oh--” He choked off as his whole body went rigid and trembling and he gasped as he came, spilling hot and wet over Bucky’s hand, splashing onto the blanket.

Tony squeezing down on him was enough, he’d hit his limit. Bucky stifled his cries against Tony’s skin, mouth moving over Tony’s shoulder, tasting him, and then when he found the tender crease between neck and shoulder, he licked, sucked, not quite marking Tony up, but enough to feel the heat of his skin, until he wasn’t going to scream. 

“Oh, god,” Bucky managed, sitting back on his heels and letting Tony slump against him, worn and sweaty and perfect. “Tony--”

Tony leaned back against Bucky’s chest, panting for breath. “That was perfect.” He took a few breaths, slowing his breathing. “You’ll-- You can stay, right?”

“As long as you want,” Bucky said. He wasn’t really looking forward to explaining it to everyone, but he would. For the privilege of being with Tony, finally, really, being together. 

Didn’t mean he wasn’t eager to put it off for a little while.

And if he got to snuggle with Tony, sleep with him, wake him up in the morning for a leisurely repeat performance, well…

That was real good, too.


	10. N5 - No Powers

The car hugged the curves in the road like a dream, and then roared to life on the straighter roads, and Tony made a mental note to get out of the city more often, just for the joy of driving.

He consulted the map in his head — using the GPS would just give up the surprise too quickly -- and turned up the even narrower road that led deeper into the upstate farmland.

“If we’re going cow-tipping for my birthday, I might just hafta kill you,” Bucky said. “Steve tried that once-- we went to New Jersey for some field trip. Lemme tell ya, if you don’t already know. Cows are bigger than you think, and they run faster.”

Tony shot his boyfriend an unimpressed look. “Do I look like the kind of person who wants to put his hands on livestock before it has been turned into food?”

“I dunno, Jim says if I get enough tequila into you, there could be consequences,” Bucky said, then dodged, giggling, as Tony poked him several times in the ribs.

“You’re not allowed to talk to Rhodey anymore,” Tony pronounced, full of fake indignation.

It was only another fifteen minutes or so before they were pulling onto the gravel road beside the freshly-mowed field. It smelled nice, in an outdoorsy sort of way, sweet and green, and even though it was only twilight, Tony could already see more stars than he usually could in the city. Grinning to himself, he parked the car and got out, going around to get the packed bag out of the trunk.

Bucky came up behind him, eyebrows up, holding out Tony’s leather coat. He shook it once, snapping the material briskly. “It may be March,” Bucky said. “It ain’t spring yet.”

Tony let Bucky help him into the coat, then twined his fingers with Bucky’s and led the way out into the field, looking for just the right spot, a little bit elevated so the ground wouldn’t be too muddy, with a nice wide view of the sky. “This looks nice, don’t you think?”

“No cows, that’s a plus,” Bucky said. “The view is good.” Of course, he was looking straight at Tony, and not the scenery at all. “Contains all my favorite things.”

“You are so cheesy,” Tony mock-complained, even if he couldn’t help smiling at the warm little glow in his chest that still, even after most of a year together, brightened every time Bucky said or did something that meant he loved Tony.

Tony set down the pack and unzipped it, pulling out the waterproof blanket and handing it to Bucky. “Find a spot for that,” he suggested, and bent back over the pack to pull out the insulated food boxes.

“Midnight picnic?” Bucky wondered. 

“We’re still a few hours out from midnight, but sure,” Tony said agreeably. He pulled out another pair of blankets, big enough that they could snuggle together underneath, and dropped them on the side of the ground cover. That took care of most of the preparations. The last thing, well, that needed to wait for exactly the right moment.

Tony sat on the blanket and patted the space next to him. “Join me?”

“Sure,” Bucky said. He dropped onto the ground with a soft thud, criss-cross. “City boy in me thinks there’s a whole lot of nothing ‘round here. Which ain’t a bad thing, just a little odd.”

Tony arranged the blankets around them and wormed his way under Bucky’s arm, not that it took much encouragement to get Bucky to put an arm around Tony. “I’m a city boy, too,” he pointed out. “But the country has one big advantage.”

Bucky leaned his head against Tony’s. “Yeah?”

Tony grinned and tipped them back until they were lying on the ground, looking up at the sky. “Much less light pollution.” He pointed up at the stars emerging in the darkness. “Know what happens tonight?”

Bucky looked at Tony, then up at the sky. “Anthelion meteors. Entry velocity of 30km per second; not lots, two to eight per hour, but they’re slow, and easy to see.”

Tony beamed. “Exactly.”

“We’re here to look at meteors?” Where any of Tony’s past lovers might have sounded grumpy, disappointed, or dubious about such an activity, Bucky immediately snuggled in at Tony’s side. “You got the quadrant lined up? Gimme a minute. Not used to all these other stars, usually you can just see the Belt, in the city.” He scrunched around a few times, which seemed to involve entirely more groping of his boyfriend than might have been strictly required, but Tony wasn’t going to complain, until he had them facing exactly the right way, bunching up one of the blankets under them so they wouldn’t get a crick in the neck.

“God, I love you,” Tony said. How had he managed to find this man, probably the only guy in New York who was as big a nerd as Tony. And smoking hot, too. Whatever Tony had done in some past life to earn this, it must have been pretty damned impressive.

They snuggled together, talking about the meteor shower and their favorite shows and their friends, enjoying the company and the excuse to be pressed close together.

“There!” Bucky raised a finger and pointed; the spot in the sky moving in a graceful arc.

“Quick, make a wish,” Tony said. He glanced over at Bucky, barely visible now in the darkness.

“Star light, star bright,” Bucky said.

“First star I see tonight,” Tony continued.

“Wish I may, and wish I might, have the wish, I wish tonight.”

Bucky leaned up on his elbow, looking at Tony. “I wish…”

Tony reached up, brushed his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek. “What’s your wish, snowflake?”

“I wish-- I wish it could stay like this,” Bucky said. “All the time, you know?”

“Freezing our asses off in a field in the middle of nowhere?” Tony teased.

“Oh god, I hope your ass isn’t freezing off,” Bucky said, mock-panicking. “Is it too late to change my wish?” He rolled over, putting one hand down the back of Tony’s pants. “Nope, still there. Whew.”

Tony laughed and tipped his chin up to kiss Bucky. “All the time, huh?”

“Every day, the rest of my life,” Bucky said. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Yeah?” Tony reached into his pocket. “Okay. Wish granted.” He held up the little box between them.

Tony didn’t think he’d ever seen stars are bright as Bucky’s eyes were in that moment. “Oh, god.”

Might as well do the thing properly. Tony sat up, then rolled up onto one knee, the classic pose. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh, my god, really?” Bucky put one shaking hand over his mouth, then blurted, “Tony, yes,” as if he was scared Tony might change his mind.

Tony couldn’t seem to help throwing his arms around Bucky and holding on as tight as he possibly could. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

“Love you, too,” Bucky said, and if he used Tony’s jacket to wipe his eyes, Tony wasn’t going to protest. “Every day, the rest of my life.”

“As long as there are stars in the sky,” Tony promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of this fic! :) We hope you had as much fun being utterly frustrated by our boys' inability to communicate like reasonable human beings as we had writing it! Stick around; next week we'll begin posting Arms Race, our winteriron spin on "The Little Mermaid."


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